The Posthorn Inn

by The Posthorn Inn (retail) (epub)

  After eating, she went first to look at the simple sty her brother had made for the newly arrived pig, wondering why Morgan Morgan and his brother Madoc had given it to her. It pleased her to see him trotting to greet her and she scratched its pink back and laughed at the expression of pleasure on the small, snouted face.

  She saw Madoc and his brother slipping through the woods as she set off to work, although they did not see her. Under their coats were suspicious-looking bundles and she felt a moment’s pity for the family who had to live by thieving and occasionally, begging for food. Perhaps she ought to go to the damp old cottage and thank them?

  Running across the fields toward Ddole House, her thoughts flew ahead of her to the tasks waiting for her there. Water to be brought in. That was always her first occupation with the small comfort that at least it warmed her, carrying the heavy buckets across the yard and into the kitchen.

  Besides water for cooking and washing the seemingly endless dishes, water was needed for bathing and washing. William insisted, as his wife had insisted before him, that each of the servants bathed once each week, taking turns to get in the soapy water in front of the kitchen fire while the rest waited their turn.

  Her first surprise of the day was finding that the buckets and the big container that was heated by the fire were already filled.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked Florrie as she removed her cloak and reached for her coarse apron.

  Florrie pointed to the window and outside, Olwen saw a figure she half recognized. The young man was thin, his legs encased in black, ragged trousers that ended in thick woollen socks and worn down boots. A cloak round him concealed most of him, but his hair, black, but with a white streak to one side, brought memory flooding back. It was Cadwalader, whom she had met on the beach, the night of Enyd and Dan’s wedding.

  ‘What is he doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘Came early and offered to work in return for food to break his fast,’ Florrie explained. ‘He’s swept the yard so clean the mice will want to move out for fear of starving!’ she added. ‘He’ll be well fed, Olwen. See to it, will you?’

  Curious, Olwen invited the man inside.

  Seeing him closely and with the benefit of daylight, she saw that he was sturdily built, but with arms that were short and hardly reaching beyond his waist. His neck too was thick and almost nonexistent, giving him the appearance of a carving, a shape that was unfinished, not intended to run and move freely. She remembered thinking that he was a part of the rock on which he had been sitting and smiled guiltily at her unkind opinion. Yet there was a beauty about him, and a suggestion of strength and gentleness that was appealing. Olwen knew he was watching her closely and with admiration, but his eyes were set deep in fathomless shadows. She could not see them at all clearly yet knew they were friendly and smiling.

  When he had eaten, and finished the work he had contracted to do for Florrie, he didn’t go away, but sat cross-legged on a wall pillar, his possessions in a bundle beside it, and watched the comings and goings of the busy house. Olwen took him food when they paused to eat their midday meal, but he said little, just smiled with those deep set, dark eyes and touched her hand briefly in appreciation of her kindness.

  He was still there when the Keeper of the Peace arrived for his almost daily visit. This time, however, he had not called simply to enquire after Florrie’s wellbeing.

  ‘I have a report,’ he announced in his pompous manner, ‘of some missing pigs.’

  Behind her, Olwen heard the gasp of dismay from Seranne and her own voice was trembling with fear as she answered,

  ‘I – I found a piglet wandering, lost, and have him safe at home.’ She had decided immediately that the pig which had been a gift from Seranne’s brothers was one of the missing ones, and hoped she would be able to get home to warn her parents of what had happened before Daniels reached them and was told a different story. ‘A very young piglet,’ she added. ‘Would it be one of those you are looking for?’

  He questioned her closely about when and how she found it and with every answer, Olwen became more frightened. Now she would have to go and warn her mother. It was unlikely that her answers would be remotely the same.

  Daniels went to talk with William Ddole and Olwen, her face a picture of dismay, asked Florrie, who was about to follow him for a few private words, if she might go home for a short while.

  ‘Of course you may not!’ Florrie’s usual amiable mood when she had spoken with Daniels had not yet materialized. Desperately Olwen reached out a hand for her cloak. She had to go. If it meant losing her place, then it was too bad. To lose her job was the least of her choices. If she were found to be in possession of a stolen pig, she would be sent to gaol. She trembled as she thought of the horror of it.

  A voice close beside her whispered, ‘Don’t worry, little Olwen. I will go and tell your mother everything you told the constable. There’s nothing for you to fret about.’ Taking up his cloth-wrapped bundle he had propped against the pillar, he smiled, bowed and was gone.

  She was white-faced when she returned to her work and Florrie asked her if she were ill.

  ‘No, just a passing discomfort, that’s all.’ She managed to smile and only then stopped to wonder why she felt certain that Cadwalader, a stranger, would help her as he promised. She had fed him twice. No reason for her to trust him, but she did.

  Daniels talked for a surprisingly long time with William Ddole. Florrie waited for him to return to the kitchen and had placed a glass for his ale and a plate of cake for him to eat. When he eventually came back into the warm kitchen he asked more questions, both of Olwen and Bethan, the sleepy kitchenmaid. His questions became conversational so Olwen was disarmed.

  ‘The wedding was a fine day out, so well victualled too. I do believe all the village enjoyed it,’ he said, smiling kindly at Olwen. ‘Such a pity that William Ddole your master missed all the fun.’

  ‘Yes, but perhaps the amusement wasn’t for the likes of him, sir,’ Olwen said, then a sharp kick on the ankle made her stare in amazement at Bethan. She had no idea the girl could move fast enough to surprise her with a kick of such ferocity.

  ‘Dreaming you were, Olwen,’ Bethan said in her slow way. ‘Why, I even danced with the master myself. Fancy you forgetting he was there, him and that Master Edwin Prince and his gentleman friend from London, er – John – er—’

  Belatedly, Olwen realized that William might have given the wedding as his alibi for other more dangerous activities.

  ‘—John Maddern. Of course! Sorry, Mr Daniels. I don’t know what I was thinking of. I remember clearly now. Master William danced with Bethan and made us all laugh for the size of him and the lack of size with her! Spent a long time talking to the bridal pair too, and gave them a gift of money.’ She hoped her embroidered tale matched somehow with what her employer had said.

  Daniels left, after having a few private moments with Florrie, and he stared doubtfully at both Olwen and Dozy Bethan as he stepped through the door, a solemn figure; tall, smartly dressed, a half-feared representative of the law.

  ‘I hope you two realize how important it is to tell the truth to a man in my position?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir,’ the girls chorused. Olwen thought the activities of the day had been so far from the truth that she doubted her own name!

  ‘Thanks,’ she whispered to Bethan after the man had gone. ‘He quite lulled me into talking as if to a friend.’

  Bethan sniffed, rubbing a hand across her face in slow disapproval.

  ‘And they calls me dozy!’ she muttered, the only time she had hinted that her nickname was known to her.

  * * *

  Seranne seemed untroubled by Daniels’ questions, getting on with her work, and overseeing the work of others with no sign of anxiety. She had told Olwen of the two piglets her brothers had brought home but hearing the Keeper of the Peace tell them of the theft of three piglets from Edwin Prince seemed not to worry her. She sang as she worked, stopping once
to sip from the bottle of white horehound medicine Florrie had made for her, to ease her coughing.

  When Daniels had gone, Seranne suddenly stopped singing, begged Olwen to cover for her and pelted off in the direction of her shabby home as if her heels were dogged by demons. Olwen watched her go, skirts held high not to impede her progress, and knew for certain that the calmness Seranne had shown in front of Daniels was the result of experience; the Morgan brothers had probably given Seranne, Polly and Vanora many such frightening moments.

  * * *

  Cadwalader returned a few hours later, but this time he did not ask for food or work. He sat where he had before, on the pillar at the end of the wall, and waited until Olwen came out for water.

  ‘I spoke to your mother and she understands fully. I waited until the Keeper of the Peace arrived, and chuckled to see him carrying the piglet away, trying to prevent it from touching his nice clean clothes,’ he reported in a whisper.

  He smiled, his eyes deepening, yet giving his face a brightness; the promise of fun slowly revealed in his hitherto serious expression. He helped Olwen back with her filled buckets and with another strange bow, departed.

  Soon afterwards, Seranne returned, pale, breathless and exhausted. In sympathy, knowing they both suffered the same uneasy fears, Olwen offered to stay longer and finish the work usually done by the cook.

  ‘Go you,’ she said, ‘Bethan and I will see everything is fit for the morning.’

  Bethan nodded apathetic agreement.

  During the following days, several gifts appeared at Olwen’s door. Rabbits, a few pigeons, a hare and even a pheasant, plucked of its fine feathers and placed like a wedge in a corner of the door, all arrived overnight and welcomed by Mary without suspicion. No one who loved Olwen would place her in danger twice, she thought erroneously. Olwen saw the pleased expression on her mother’s face and knew that if she told her whom she suspected of bringing the food, the smile would fade. The Morgans were hardly the sort Mary would choose for her daughter to marry.

  * * *

  Barrass disliked taking letters to Markus, the blind man who lived in a dark, unfriendly looking house on the cliffs. The man rarely went out, and when he did, he was unapproachable and surly. The house itself seemed to reflect the man’s personality and although a strong young man and afraid of little, Barrass shivered as he approached it. The package he had for Markus on this Thursday had been given to him to deliver by the man who lived at Penclawdd on the north coast.

  The man had also given Barrass a feed of cockles gathered on the beach and cooked in an outhouse behind his home. These Barrass had eaten for his midday meal, washing them down with a mug of ale in a small alehouse near the forge at Llanrhidian.

  He was tired, wanting only to walk back to the village, hand in the letters, his notebook and the money he had collected, and settle to rest on his lonely bed. But as well as having this letter to deliver, he knew that, being Thursday, he would have to kill time until he met Kenneth at the house of Betson-the-flowers in the green lane. Wearily he walked past Olwen’s cottage and along the path high above the sea.

  The watchman stepped out as he approached Markus’s gate and demanded to know his business. Handing him the letter and sitting to wait while the watchman went to get his fee, Barrass felt in his pocket for the letter that had come for himself on the previous day. It had been read many times since he had first opened the seal and unfolded the pages, but the excitement as he began to read was still enough to make his heart stumble in its beatings.

  When Penelope Ddole had been found with him in the old coach at Ddole House, their interrupted loving caused her father’s face to redden with rage and immediately afterwards Penelope had been sent away. She now lived in London with Gerald and Marion Thomas, friends of her father. The intention had been to separate her from Barrass and in this they had succeeded – but for the post.

  In little more than a week after her arrival in the city, Penelope had written to Barrass care of the Swansea sorting office and he had written back, addressing the letter to her care of Coakley’s Coffee House for her to collect. The letter held in his hand was the third he had received and in it she declared her intention of writing to her father and pleading to be allowed home.

  Soon, dear Barrass, we will be together again and then nothing will separate us.

  She had signed it with her flourishing signature and below it had added a kiss.

  He stared at the letter, imagining her sitting at some unknown desk, hiding the words from those who were caring for her, and then hurrying to hand it in to the post office for delivery to him, some 200 miles away. He sat beside Markus’s gate and in his mind he was composing a reply, suggestions of what she should say to persuade her father.

  He imagined too how it would be when they were reunited. He even rehearsed the words he would speak. His brown eyes were starry in the fading light and a half smile curved his lips.

  ‘What are you dreaming about now, Barrass? Which woman is it this time?’

  He jerked out of his reverie and saw Olwen standing beside him, hands on hips, bending over in obvious disapproval. He hurriedly hid the letter and stood up to greet her.

  ‘Olwen, why are you here so late?’

  ‘I saw you pass the house and guessed you were on your way to deliver a letter to Markus. Waiting for his reply, are you?’

  ‘Maybe there’ll be a letter to take in return, but it’s the fee for delivering the letter that keeps me sitting here.’

  ‘That and the letter you read so dreamily. You don’t open letters and read other people’s secrets, do you, Barrass? But what other explanation can there be? Surely no one would be writing to you?’

  ‘The letter was for me! You know I would never open the Royal Mail! And—’ he added quickly, ‘you must promise to say nothing. If you talk it will get someone into trouble.’

  ‘That someone being—?’ she asked.

  ‘No one to concern you.’

  She went to him and slipped an arm around him. Hardly reaching his broad shoulder, she smiled up at him sweetly, but Barrass knew there was something she had to say and it would not be pleasant.

  ‘Has my father told you to keep away from me?’ she demanded, the smile still intact. ‘Me, almost sixteen and with a father who treats me like a child?’

  Barrass laughed. ‘Almost sixteen?’

  ‘Well, has he?’

  ‘Spider loves you and wants only what is best,’ he said, pulling away from her.

  ‘What he thinks is best for me! Only I know what I want! Barrass,’ she pleaded, ‘don’t push me out of your life. Friends, aren’t we?’

  ‘Friends we’ll always be, Olwen. But I’m older and Spider thinks it best if you make friends who are your own age. Being my friend seems to prevent that. I – I promised him not to encourage you to think of me as anything more than an acquaintance you have all but outgrown.’

  ‘That was why he and Mam sent me to work at Ddole House. I knew it! And you encouraged them!’

  She hit out at him, her thin arms flailing wildly and he laughingly held her close to stop the blows landing on him. He bent his head and felt her warm face against his neck and they stood there for a while, each taking comfort from the closeness, each unwilling to end the contact.

  It was only when the servant returned with payment for the letter that Barrass slowly eased the girl away from him. He placed the coins in his bag and, with an arm around Olwen’s shoulders, walked slowly back to her home. As they came in sight of it, he moved away from her and she looked up at him pleadingly.

  They stopped, hidden by a freshly-leaved hawthorn on which blossom buds showed and he kissed her gently on the cheek, his arms wrapping her close to him. She was very dear to him, but her father was right, he was not worthy of her love.

  Wriggling suddenly against him, she reached out and with her hands holding his curly head, she kissed him firmly and childlike on his lips before running off across the flattened grass to her open d
oor. It was several minutes later that he missed Penelope’s letter.

  * * *

  Daisy and Pansy, the Palmer twins, had always been inseparable. Daisy was the more confident of the two and it was she who led the opinions of the twosome. Occasionally, Pansy would protest at something Daisy said or did, but mostly she would follow her sister without protest. But of late, Daisy noticed that there was less and less enthusiasm when an invitation was received to attend a party or a dance. Pansy preferred to sit at her sewing, something her twin could never understand.

  On this afternoon, Emma was out visiting friends, Pitcher had driven her, and the girls were alone in the upstairs living room above the alehouse bar. They were both sewing. Daisy was making embroidered chair backs for their sister, Violet. The cloth would hang over the backs of Violet’s new velour chairs to prevent grease and dirt from the heads that rested there from soiling them. Pansy was making a neater job of embroidering a waistcoat, the small stitches building up a pattern of subtle greens and greys on a deeper green cloth.

  When Pansy disappeared, Daisy did not become curious for a while, presuming her sister had gone to use the closet. When several minutes had passed, she put down her sewing, glad of the excuse to abandon it for a while.

  All was quiet outside the parlour door, and she slipped down the stairs and into the passage behind the bar. Peeping through the half open door she saw the bar-room was empty, the few customers having chosen to sit outside in the weak sunshine. Whispering voices led her to the door of the cellar, which was raised to reveal stone steps leading down to where her father stored most of his supplies.

  She hesitated. Apart from games when she had been a child, she and her sister had never ventured down the cold steps into the even colder cellar. Her mother had made it clear that the business did not concern them, the money made there was all that they need concern themselves with. So why was the sound of her sister’s voice coming from there?