The Posthorn Inn

by The Posthorn Inn (retail) (epub)

  Cadwalader stood and began to play a lively tune on his harp and, gradually, the tension eased, but the evening continued with less jubilation than there would otherwise have been.

  But when Pitcher ran upstairs and counted his takings, he was more than delighted with the amount.

  ‘That Cadwalader was a real find,’ he confided to Emma. ‘What luck he came here and not to one of the other places and asked to sing for his supper.’

  ‘So long as it’s only music and profit he brought and not the soldiers, Pitcher,’ she replied. ‘You never know with strangers and that’s a fact. And since when did anyone come to Mumbles on the way from Swansea to Carmarthen?’

  Thinking of the supplies arriving in a few hours’ time, Pitcher shivered in apprehension.

  ‘If they were expecting a landing they would surely have hidden, not shown themselves?’ he said, but Emma only shrugged her fat shoulders.

  ‘Bluff, double bluff, no bluff at all? Who’s to tell? Just be careful Pitcher, please. I would be so devastated to see you harmed or thrown into gaol,’ she pleaded.

  Chapter Seven

  Pitcher left Emma and ran back down to the bar-room. The sound of the singing and laughing filled the building and sounded as if most of the village had come to drink with him. But why had the soldiers chosen this night to call? He knew that unless the soldiers and the other men who were with them were kept away from the beach, the smugglers would walk into their arms. He went into the smoke-filled room and beckoned to Barrass. He led him through the door behind the counter, through to the passage beyond and whispered,

  ‘Barrass, will you go and warn Markus that there are soldiers here?’

  ‘Should he stop the boats coming in?’ Barrass asked.

  ‘That must be for others to decide—’ Both men turned as a shadow eased itself from the doorway and revealed the darkly clad figure of Cadwalader.

  ‘Forgive me for intruding,’ the man said, ‘but I can guess your predicament and will willingly help.’

  ‘Go back to your singing and keep your mouth well closed if you want to sing again for your supper,’ Pitcher warned.

  ‘I have an idea that would solve the problem of the soldiers being here and give you all a fine alibi,’ Cadwalader whispered back. ‘I am a stranger to you and know the risk you would take by trusting me, but, at least listen to my idea.’

  Pitcher raised a lantern that had been standing on a small table and stared into the man’s dark eyes. For no reason he could ever explain, he trusted him at least enough to listen.

  ‘I think it is a trick you have used before but perhaps never so boldly,’ Cadwalader began. ‘You should go at once and call up as many men and women as you can, ask them to come here and exchange places with those who have to leave.’

  ‘You mean for us to go out and hope that the soldiers will not notice?’ Pitcher exclaimed.

  ‘One by one, two at the most, some come in and take the places of those who have to leave,’ Cadwalader explained.

  ‘It might work, but if one of the soldiers should see them and guess…’ Pitcher said.

  ‘I will help to amuse them and your potboy can ply them with enough ale to slope their eyesight.’

  ‘You do not move from the place!’ Pitcher warned after staring at Cadwalader for a few seconds as if making up his mind. He turned to Barrass. ‘We’ll do as he says.’

  Barrass ran off to call on as many houses as he could in the short time he and Pitcher had allowed themselves, sending messages to others from the people to whom he spoke. Arthur was given his instructions and he, together with Cadwalader, concentrated on discouraging the soldiers from leaving.

  A helping of brandy was added to the ale and served with frantic enthusiasm by Arthur, whose Adam’s apple bobbed like a coracle on a wild river. Cadwalader sang and played but his melodies had changed from the beautiful and lyrical and sentimental to the more bawdy songs of the soldier’s repertoire.

  He moved to sit close to the soldiers and the men who had come with them, shielding those who were leaving and the newcomers slipping in to take their places. When a soldier did rise to go outside to the privy, he noticed nothing different about the over-crowded room.

  * * *

  After making the necessary calls Barrass went back to the alehouse only briefly, just to reassure himself that Cadwalader was in fact doing as he had promised, and that Arthur was coping. Then he set off up the sloping path and along the dark cliffs to the place where the boats were expected to come in.

  Olwen saw him go with the wish that she could have gone with him, but the cliffs this night were no place for a woman. Then to her chagrin she saw Harriet slip out of the back doorway close on Barrass’s heels. She stood as if to chase after them but Mary pulled at her skirt and frowned for her to be still.

  * * *

  On the way back from his visit to Betson-the-flowers, Kenneth was just approaching the village when he became aware of activity. People were moving in the fields around him. He stopped and wondered if, it being likely that this was to do with the smuggling, it would be better for him to stay where he was until those passing had gone from the area. His hesitation was his undoing. His movements became suspicious and he was seen by Edwin Prince.

  Edwin ran to where Barrass, followed by Harriet, was just about to disappear into the trees that lined a section of the path, and called them back to where Kenneth had hidden. With few words spoken, Barrass and a masked Edwin tied the man’s hands together then fastened them to his ankles so he could sit but not easily walk.

  Harriet was given charge of him, being told not to let him go until she had been so instructed. She smiled in the dark as she sat beside her prisoner and began to tickle him.

  ‘What will Ceinwen say?’ Kenneth murmured.

  ‘It’s what I will say. That’s what you want to be worrying about, my fine boy,’ Harriet said with a low chuckle.

  Barrass heard stifled laughs and groans and half-hearted protests as Harriet murmured, ‘Ticklish by there, are you, Kenneth?’

  That Barrass felt no jealousy might have been surprising, but although he and Harriet had spent many pleasant evenings together, there had never been a proprietorial feeling between them. Never on either side had there been a sense of belonging, although he knew that Harriet would marry him if he should ask her. He also knew that if Harriet’s brother, Carter Phillips, found out just how close they were, a wedding would be the least of the threats he would offer to Barrass.

  If it had been Violet he had left with Kenneth it would have been different altogether. Or if he had overheard Penelope laughing in that sensual way, jealousy would have consumed him. Or little Olwen he admitted to himself in surprise. If it had been Olwen, he would probably have killed Kenneth just for being there!

  On the cliff path, shadows slipped out of the bushes and hurried with Barrass and the following form of Edwin but no one spoke. Ponies and donkeys trod through the deep grass on to the path and joined the silent procession. Too late, Barrass remembered he had been told to bring Jethro. Well, better he and the others arrived safe, rather than risk the soldiers hearing the sound of a horse setting off towards the cliffs.

  One of the boats had already landed its cargo when he reached the small beach. Figures shrouded in sacks to conceal their identity moved up and down the rocks to where others waited to fasten the loads either on their backs on onto their mounts.

  A man approached Barrass and he watched carefully, fearing to see the glint of a knife, but the man only asked in the accent of a Frenchman for ‘The man who is called Pitcher’.

  Cautiously, Barrass denied there being anyone of that name and the man thrust a small package into his hands and dissolved into the darkness whispering, ‘For the man called Pitcher, from Jacques.’

  Tucking the package inside his coat, Barrass ran to help with the unloading.

  For safety and speed, most of the contraband was taken deep into a cave, and out into the grounds near Edwin Prince’s pig
geries, not carried across the fields to where they were usually hidden. The exception was the load destined for the underground rooms of John Maddern. He had recently discovered a disused basement below the house he rented. He insisted that his place was as safe as any could be and walked back across the fields urging the men and the animals to ‘Shift your heels’. Not living in the village but visiting on occasions, he doubted if Daniels would give his small cottage a thought. Silently the figures dispersed again into the darkness, and the only sounds heard above the waves were the slap of ropes on masts and the pull of oars.

  Barrass was the last to leave the beach. He was on edge and longing to run back to the safety of the alehouse, but some sixth sense bade him stay. He told himself it was simply that he would be unobserved once the rest of the group had gone and the night was still. Found on his own, anyone, even the suspicious Daniels, would believe he had been kissing a girl.

  As the last sound faded and the night returned to its customary order, a faint cry disturbed the night. At first he thought it was an animal, but there was something about the cry that made his blood freeze. When it came again, slightly stronger, he realized it was human.

  At first he did nothing, just sat there watching the area around him trying to see a movement within the blackness, then as the cry came again, he made his way to where it came from and seeing a movement, reached out and grabbed at a man crouched in the rocks close to the tide.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he whispered gruffly.

  ‘I fell, I knocked my head and now the boats have gone back without me,’ came the reply.

  ‘You’re from, over there?’

  ‘Yes. I was unloading and the boat tilted and, with a barrel on my shoulder, I lost my balance.’

  ‘You don’t sound like a Frenchie,‘ Barrass accused.

  ‘That’s because I’m not.’

  The stranger rose and offered a hand to Barrass for assistance in climbing up away from the lapping water. Barrass took the hand and pulled the boy up to stand beside him but there was something about the lightness of the step, the smoothness of the hand, that made him suspicious. He reached out and pulled the brimless hat from the boy’s head and saw long, straight hair fall from beneath it.

  ‘Yes,’ the newcomer said unnecessarily. ‘I’m a girl.’

  * * *

  At the alehouse Arthur was attempting to sing a sailor’s working song, his high voice a parody of the words. His dog sat in a space at his feet, and throwing back its head, howled a mournful accompaniment but out of pain or pleasure, none could decide. People crowded around to see the unexpected performance, the soldiers joining in the laughter.

  Mary stood to leave, unable to stay longer, even though fear for the safety of Spider and Dan kept her eyes continually glancing towards the door.

  ‘It will be more strange for us to stay after so many hours, Olwen,’ she said. ‘Go you and make sure there’s someone else to fill our place.’

  ‘Just a while longer, Mam,’ Olwen pleaded. She shared her mother’s anxiety for Dan and Spider and knowing Barrass was probably out on the cliffs added to her fears. Lifting the sleeping Dic from her mother’s arms she settled uneasily with Mary to wait.

  It had become extremely difficult for Arthur to keep the mugs brimming. The place was so full that there was no room for his feet and the people demanded faster and faster service. When Daniels walked in, tall, imposing and dreadfully official, pushing several sleepers from behind the doors, panic rose in him and all but erupted in a scream. His Adam’s apple did a frenzied jig and he felt like running away, hiding from the responsibilities he had been left to handle.

  Instead, he ran up the stairs and asked if Emma could help him. Worried as she was for the fate of Pitcher out on the beach, she came at once.

  She stayed behind the counter, with Arthur bringing fresh supplies up from the cellar, but their combined efforts were not enough to stem the demands that became louder than the singing and ended in a chant of discontent.

  Arthur went first to hand a beaker to the Keeper of the Peace, who announced that he wanted to talk to Pitcher.

  ‘Being kept busy in the cellar, sir. No time to spit he hasn’t, come when he can, he will for sure. I’ll tell him you want a word, but busy he is, never a night like this for ages,’ Arthur babbled, wondering how long he could hold the man back from discovering Pitcher’s absence.

  It was Daisy who coped. From the little her mother had said and the frenzied attempts of Arthur to be three people at once, she guessed the true story and came into the room, carrying a tray of bread and cheese, people making a path for her miraculously and allowing her to reach the soldiers and Ponsonby Daniels.

  Haughty, rude and as separate from the others as perfume after rotten eggs, she subdued the liveliest and even woke some of the sleepers, simply by standing there, beautifully dressed, a character from a different world, and throwing bread, cheese and insults.

  To Daniels she smiled and asked, ‘Are you comfortable standing there, or would you prefer to sit?‘ Without waiting for an answer, she raised her foot and pushed against one dozy-looking man and slid him from his seat. Then she gestured to the Keeper of the Peace to sit down. Bemused by her presence amid the unruly mob as much as her actions, he did so.

  Pansy followed her sister down the stairs but could not face entering the noisy, unruly room. Arthur skidded to a stop risking dropping the foaming mugs he was carrying on a pewter tray when he saw her.

  ‘No, Pansy, don’t you go in by there! That lot aren’t fit company for the likes of you!’

  ‘But I want to help.’

  ‘Help me by going back to the safety of your room, please my dear,’ he whispered. ‘Your sister being in there is bad enough but she’s brave and can cope. This isn’t for you, this hullabaloo.’ Balancing the tray momentarily on a small table, he glanced nervously around and touched her cheek with his lips before hurrying back into the bar-room to satisfy at least a few thirsty mouths.

  Pansy stood on the stairs for a while, listening to the riotous choruses below, sneaking glances in through the door to the smoke-filled bar-room where the colourful uniforms added a brightness rarely seen. But she didn’t envy her sister’s boldness in entering the rowdy place. The bar was not the place for her; she returned upstairs to listen to the distant noise and wondered how long it would be before Daisy came and they could go to their beds.

  * * *

  Horses passed close to the place where Harriet and Kenneth sat. They were oblivious of them as Harriet untied his hands and guided them to her body. A while later, a donkey slipped on a muddy patch and shook the bush under which they lay and they hardly noticed a thing. As the parade of men and animals became less frequent, Kenneth allowed his hands to be retied and he sat trying to look nonchalant when a messenger came to tell Harriet to free him. For long after she had departed he still sat there, a shattered man.

  After a few moments, panic returned to his inert form and he gathered himself and hurried back to his house, arriving just moments before his wife. Longing for a drink to ease his dry throat, he dared not face her but pretended sleep, the thirst easier to cope with than her accusations and anger.

  * * *

  Pitcher arrived back at the alehouse, pulling and panting after his strenuous two hours’ work and the run back, just in time to see his daughter Daisy turn away from Daniels who now sat with the soldiers, obediently facing away from the counter. He heard her call for Arthur to, ‘Fill the man’s cup, if you please,’ and stared in utter disbelief.

  Adam’s apple wobbling like a snake half-swallowed, Arthur nodded at Pitcher and went to do as Daisy instructed. Pitcher blinked, rubbed his eyes and stared after his daughter in amazement as she left the room and joined her mother behind the counter.

  ‘You’ve come up from the cellar to talk to Daniels,’ Arthur whispered from the side of his mouth as he passed him. Taking a filled pitcher from Emma, Arthur handed it to him and pushed him in the general directio
n of the Keeper of the Peace. Pitcher nodded and, still looking dazed, pushed through the crowd past Cadwalader still playing his harp, past the fiddler whose elbow was brushing the nose of a sleeper, to stand beside Daniels.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’ he asked, wondering if he were awake and beset with a fantastic dream.

  ‘Yes, you’ve been a mighty long time coming.’

  ‘You can see why I couldn’t leave the cellar,’ Pitcher said, his words coming seemingly of their own volition, without him having any part in their making.

  ‘Well, the truth is,’ Daniels said slowly and with the infinite care of the inebriated, ‘the fact is, I’ve forgotten what it was I had to tell you.’

  ‘Best you have another drink then,’ Pitcher said and topped up the mug being waved about his face. ‘Help you to remember for sure.’

  With little disturbance, the men and women who had been called went out, one and two at a time, and their places were refilled with the previous occupants. The boats had come and gone with soldiers on the premises and none of them aware of what had happened. Pitcher urged Dan to sing, and Cadwalader seemed untiring as he accompanied the young man with voice and harp.

  * * *

  On the cliff path the blackness made it impossible to see a foot in front of them as Mary, Mistress Powell and Olwen walked home. Relieved as she was to have seen Dan and her father safely returned, Olwen had left reluctantly as Barrass had not yet appeared.

  ‘There would have been a word if there had been any trouble,’ Mary reassured her. ‘He probably went straight to his room. It’s almost dawn and we all have to rise as usual in the morning.’

  The two people suddenly in front of them were impossible to make out, so very dark was it still.