Calico Road (6 page)

‘I never make an enemy of anyone if I can help it. But he did pocket my beer money.’

She knew Ross had been doing that quite often since Mr Greenhalgh put him in charge, because the takings were right down. Well, Ross had always made the most of every opportunity, he’d had to. And no one thought it wrong to rob a rich man like Greenhalgh.

She sighed as she came downstairs from showing Toby which bedroom to use. Things were allus changing, whether you wanted it or not. Look at the way Calico had changed since she and Hal came here. It’d been full of handloom weavers then, making a good living from weaving calico. But then they’d started weaving cotton in mills, producing better cloth more cheaply, and gradually handloom weaving had brought in less and less till the families in Calico had had to find other ways to earn their bread. Some had gone down the hill to work in the spinning mill at Tappersley – and regretted it because Andrew Beardsworth was a greedy, grasping devil, who treated his operatives badly – while others had simply packed up and left the area.

The families left were the stubborn ones and they were all very close. She knew they regarded her as one of them, and she felt this was her home.

But she liked the looks of the tall young man in spite of his Greenhalgh blood. He was strongly built and had a determined mouth, but he had gentle eyes and a warm smile. But strong or not, he was only one man and if the folk in the village took against him he’d be in trouble, whether he owned the inn or not.

And in that case so would she because she would be relying on him now for her job and to keep a roof over her head. So she’d have to help him if she could.

She would have done so anyway. He was Marjorie’s son.

Toby had refused to take the front bedroom, which clearly belonged to Mary and looked as if it had done for a while. He found himself another room at the back which looked up the clough. That’d do him just fine.

She seemed so much at home here it puzzled him. How long had she been here, then? She’d said ‘for a while’ which could mean anything. And the furniture in the house place was hers. That was what she called the private living area behind the public part of the inn. Eh, he hadn’t heard anyone use that term since his mother died. That was what she’d always called their downstairs room, too.

He made no comment about these puzzling matters, but helped Rab unload the cart and put his bed and personal possessions in his own room for the time being, leaving his other stuff out in one of the sheds.

Eh, there were so many rooms and outbuildings here, it felt like a palace to him. A dusty, echoing palace, though. His room was big but had had no furniture in it till he came. Surely an inn should have its rooms furnished for travellers to stay in?

When he went downstairs to the house place, he found Rab there, supping tea not beer now.

‘The inn’s bigger than I’d expected,’ Toby said, smiling at Mary.

‘We don’t use it all, haven’t for years. I’ll show you round properly tomorrow,’ she said. ‘There are other rooms in the middle part and then there’s
the back
–’ she said it as if it was special or different in some way ‘– but there aren’t many gentry stopping here nowadays, though we do get a few pedlars and packmen, people on foot or in carts. I know everything’s in a sad state of repair. My husband wasn’t much good at that sort of thing.’

‘Well, if there’s one thing I know about, love, it’s house repairs,’ said Toby with a smile, upset to see her so nervous with him still. Though what was the use of bothering about the empty rooms if there was no one wanting to hire them? He was beginning to wonder who exactly Mary was, but he was sure she meant no harm to him. She seemed a very honest soul.

As he went out to wave his friend off, Rab said, ‘There’s a horse in them stables an’ a cart, too. I reckon they’re yours now. The cart needs a bit of work, though.’

As Toby watched him pull away he felt a wave of loneliness sweep over him. Eh, pluck up, you fool, he told himself sternly. There was no time to waste on regrets. He needed to learn how to run an inn and look after the beer. It was lucky he had Mary to teach him.

When he went inside again he found her on her own preparing him some food in the house place. She had only an open fire to work with. He reckoned he’d make a start on the inside by putting in a proper closed stove. It had been all right for him to cook on an open fire, but you needed better equipment in an inn.

‘Whose horse is that in the stables?’

She looked round and shrugged. ‘Yours, I suppose. We bought it out of the inn’s takings.’

‘I’ll pay you for it if you think that fairer.’

‘All I really need, Toby, is to have a job and somewhere to live.’

‘This is your home an’ I’ll not be turning you out.’

She blinked her eyes rapidly and tried to smile her thanks, but a tear spilled down her cheek, so he didn’t ask any more of the questions that were puzzling him but left her to recover. When he peered into the public room, he found it empty of customers. If they were anything like the folk in Backenshaw, they’d have gone off to spread the news of his arrival. There was another public room to one side, but it wasn’t in use. He paced it out and checked the window that was rattling and had a loose catch. He’d have to sort that out.

‘I’ve got some food ready for you,’ she called.

When he went back to join her she set a plate of fried ham and potatoes down in front of him, looking at him anxiously as if worried by how he’d react to her cooking.

‘Where’s yours?’ he asked when she didn’t join him. He knew, for he’d peered inside it, that the food cupboard was almost bare, but he’d brought enough bread and ham with him to last a few days, and other food, too, so there was no need for her to go without.

She avoided his eyes. ‘I’m not hungry. I’ll get myself something later.’

‘I don’t like eating on my own.’ He went across to the dresser and took another of the old-fashioned pewter plates from it, scraping half his fried ham on to it and setting the plate down opposite his. Then he pulled out a chair and gestured to it. ‘I’m not eating unless you do. The food I’ve brought is to be shared. Now, get yourself some bread and join me.’

Instead she burst into tears and when she showed no signs of stopping, he gave in to impulse and pulled her towards him, letting her weep against his chest. ‘Stop crying, Mary love, and tell me what I’ve done to upset you?’

Her voice was muffled and she didn’t try to look at him as she said, ‘You’ve done nothing wrong, nothing! In fact, you’ve been kind to me and now you’re giving me your food . . . only I’ve deceived you and I can’t bear that.’

He frowned down at her head, seeing how soft the grey hair was as it curled from underneath the little lace-trimmed cap she wore. She was about the same age as his mother would have been if she’d lived and a pang shot through him to think of her being afraid of him. ‘Tell me what the trouble is, then.’

The front door of the alehouse banged and a voice called, ‘Shall I get my own beer, Mary?’

She pulled away from Toby, wiping her eyes on her apron. ‘I’ll get it for him. You’re not used to drawing beer yet and I don’t like them touching my clean taps and jugs with their dirty hands.’

As she moved swiftly through the doorway into the public room, Toby went to watch her, heedless of his meal going cold. She drew beer into the jug from the barrel and filled one of the earthenware pots. Unlike Ross, she didn’t spill any. When the man paid she put the money into a little drawer behind the small counter.

She looked from him to the newcomer uncertainly. ‘Jim, this is Toby Fletcher, the new owner. Jim’s got a farm to the west of the village. His daughter Alice helps out here sometimes.’

The man threw a sour look in Toby’s direction and jerked his head slightly in a way which could be taken as a greeting.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Toby said, coming forward to stand behind Mary. ‘Give him his money back. The first drink for my first customer is free, to celebrate my taking over the inn.’

The man’s face brightened a little and he held his hand out for his coin then raised his pot to Toby and drank deep.

She frowned and shook her head as if not pleased with this.

‘Go and get your food while it’s warm. I’ll join you in a minute or two.’ When Mary looked at him uncertainly, Toby pushed her gently towards the house place, then turned back to his customer. He’d been hoping for a chat but the man had gone to sit by the fire with his back to the counter, so Toby leaned against the wall and studied his new domain instead, debating how to start a conversation.

Quite a large room, this, with several tables, some benches and stools, and a few wooden armchairs. It was getting dark outside now and at the moment there was only the firelight to brighten the place. The counter was poorly made but well scrubbed and the pots waiting for use were clean. There was a tray for the dirty pots and a bucket for any slops.

He went to collect the pots the group of men had left behind on the table. ‘Nasty sort of day, isn’t it?’ he offered as the customer looked up.

A grunt was his only answer, so Toby shrugged and went into the house place again.

Mary stood up when he entered. ‘I’ll go and mind the public room.’

‘We’ll hear if anyone else comes in. Sit down and tell me what you meant. How have you been deceiving me?’

She swallowed hard then said in a rush, ‘My name’s not Mary and I’m not Ross’s cousin. I’m the wife of the man who used to run this place. Young Mr Greenhalgh told me I was to leave after Hal died, only I didn’t. I don’t have any family left, you see, so I’ve nowhere else to go. Mr Greenhalgh gave me some money, but what’s money when you’re among strangers? I’ve lived here for over twenty year now and it’s my
home
and – and I don’t
want
to leave. So Ross said to change my name and pretend I was his cousin and just – well, stay on. He didn’t reckon Mr Greenhalgh would be back, so he’d never know I’d not done as he said. Only we never thought about them selling the inn to someone else.’

Toby smiled at her. ‘Is that all you’ve done to deceive me? I don’t reckon it’s a hanging crime. What’s your real name?’

‘Phoebe Dixon.’

He studied her, head on one side. ‘That suits you much better than Mary. Well, Phoebe, since I’m the owner now, it’s up to me who stays or goes. So I’ll ask you again: will you stay and work with me, teach me my trade, be my housekeeper and cook?’ He waited, then burst out laughing, ‘Oh, no, don’t start crying again, woman!’

So she both laughed and cried, then wiped away her tears and gave him a wobbly smile. ‘You’ll never regret helping me,’ Phoebe promised fervently.

The next day Toby got her to show him round the rest of the inn. Used to studying buildings, he could see that it had indeed been added to bit by bit – a room here, a room there – and some of the builders had been more skilful than others.

As they approached the rear of the building, however, Phoebe stopped talking and began to look faintly apprehensive. Toby had to bend his head to get into the back part, so low were the doorways, and yet once inside he found a huge room with a high ceiling. He stared round in astonishment at the manner of its building. He’d seen nothing like it before and wondered if this was how they’d built all houses in the distant past. There was one large room, with no ceiling but the underneath of the roof with all its beams showing, festooned by years of cobwebs. Several doors led off it to the rear and there was a door leading outside to the right. ‘It seems more like a barn than a house,’ he said, thinking aloud.

‘The Curate came to look at it when he first arrived. He said it was very old and had probably been built by monks. It was a barn once, only later had someone turned it into a house and built those rooms on.’ She waved a hand at the rear doors.

Toby went to examine the uprights, nodding approval. Good wood, well seasoned, and yes, it’d last a long time still, though the plastered walls needed attention and some of the small, old-fashioned bricks were fretting away. The builders had used massive trees as the frame of the building, ones with big branches that curved in the way they needed. They’d cut the trees in half and used each pair to form a rounded V-shape at the short end of the room. Then they’d connected them with crossbeams to give them stability.

The walls had been filled in by a series of oblongs separated by wooden cross-pieces. The bottom oblongs were filled by bricks, the upper ones plastered, so that the walls looked like an untidy patchwork.

Toby felt strangely as though someone was watching him, and turned to Phoebe to ask, ‘Can anyone get into this part of the house? It seems very different from the front.’

She shivered. ‘None of the villagers would even try to get in.’

‘Then maybe there’s someone lurking in one of the rooms.’

She looked at him solemnly. ‘You feel it too, then?’

‘Feel what?’

‘Folk in the village say it’s haunted an’ I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re not right. It fair gives me the shivers an’ I never come here unless I have to. Eh, the times I’ve had a quick check round to make sure there’s no one here as shouldn’t be – and there never is.’ She shuddered. ‘Let’s get back to that warm fire.’

‘I’ll join you in a minute.’ He peeped quickly into each of the three rooms at the back. Like the main chamber, they were completely empty. He’d examine this part of the inn properly later and do any necessary repair jobs because it was more important to get the front looking better. If this old part was unsafe, he’d either repair it or demolish it. But it didn’t seem unsafe, just – well, there was no word for it but
strange
.

He walked back slowly, unable to believe he owned such a big place, feeling overwhelmed by his good fortune. Why had John Greenhalgh given it to him? It seemed so unlike the man.

That reminded Toby of the shame of having to ask the lawyer to read the deed of gift to him. He wouldn’t forget his vow to learn to read and write properly, either. Jethro Greenhalgh wasn’t going to get the chance to sneer at him again, and anyhow Toby reckoned he’d need to be able to read easily and cast proper accounts with a business to run. He’d watched Bob write things down all the time and his old employer had always said you didn’t just hope to make money from a business, you had to know where each penny went and whether it was working for you properly. And Bob was a rising man, so who better for Toby to model himself on?