The Posthorn Inn

by The Posthorn Inn (retail) (epub)

  ‘I can’t do what you ask. I must do what is clearly my duty. If you can’t see that then you aren’t the woman I should marry!’

  ‘So it must be then. Please believe I regret having to do this.’ She held out the heavy key and with a flick of her hand, dispatched it into the pile of dung nearby, on to which a boy was emptying yet another steaming and noisome barrow-load.

  Daniels fumed and shouted for someone to release him, but the few passers-by only stared, considering him to he a part of the entertainment. He didn’t believe Florrie had done such a wicked thing to save his life. But if that were so it meant he was considered a joke by the local people. Tolerated because he was harmless. A fool who could be easily outwitted.

  Being laughed at by his inferiors was as humiliating as the position in which he now found himself. They thought him a fool! The word echoed round and round in his head.

  His fury increased as one then several boys started to search for the key. But angry and impatient as he was to be on his way, when he was finally released, he found time to stop at the nearest inn and demand that his boots be washed and re-polished before heading back.

  Chapter Nineteen

  While Neath Fair continued to throw noise and illumination into the night sky, Pansy and Arthur walked across country to the town of Bridgend. Directly, the distance was nineteen miles but overland, and having to take constant diversions for streams and hazards, they walked more than twenty-five miles. Pansy smiled bravely as they reached the outskirts of the town, trying to ignore the pain in her swollen and torn feet and the stiffness of her thigh muscles after the unaccustomed exercise.

  The inflexibility of her legs caused her to turn sideways at each step and Arthur was worried that on the following day she would be unable to move. He decided that although they had planned to sleep on this, their first night together, under the stars, he would insist they spent some of their savings on a room. Pansy protested but Arthur insisted.

  ‘I refuse to argue. Responsible for you I am and you do what I say, my dear. You’ll spend the night in a comfortable bed,’ he said in his high voice that made his scolding lose its authority. ‘I’m well and truly used to walking with all the messages I do, and the running up and down those cellar steps. But you, well, I don’t want you to suffer any more. Tomorrow we rest and after that we’ll see about getting ourselves work.’

  They found a room in a small inn half hidden in the shadow of the castle walls ‘and neither stirred until the sun was well up on the following morning. The excitement of sharing a bed, far from anyone who would interfere, was ruined by their exhaustion. Hand in hand they fell into the bed with hardly a bite to eat, and collapsed into slumber.

  In the morning, Arthur dressed and went down to find them some food and drink and some water to wash. When they had eaten, he slowly undressed again.

  Pansy laughed with nervous tension and with the realization that she could barely move her legs! Arthur slid in beside her and slowly his hands began to explore her exciting body. But although he loved her to the extent that the room and everything else was a blur apart from desire for her that burned within him, they failed to consummate their love. To Arthur’s relief, their attempt ended in laughter and before they fell once more to sleep, each had vowed to the other, that if the loving they had longed for never materialized, they would remain constant and true. When they woke, again, the need to try again overwhelmed them; this time they were completely successful.

  On the following day, they sought work and Arthur managed to find employment and accommodation for them both at the inn where they were staying. Arrangements were going ahead for their wedding with such certainty that he knew God in His Heaven was in approval.

  * * *

  Emma and Daisy returned to Mumbles with Percy being urged to hurry. Emma dreaded telling Pitcher what had happened. She had no way of proving that Pansy and Arthur had run away together but there was no doubt in her mind that that was what had happened. She hardly spoke on the journey, trying to decide whether to go in attacking Pitcher and blaming him for employing such an ungrateful boy, or whether calmly to tell Pitcher her suspicions and let him vent his anger by accusing her of neglect. In fact, she burst into tears the moment Percy brought the wagon to a stop.

  Pitcher ran through the door to help her down. It was clear he had been watching the road for her return.

  ‘Emma, I know what has happened,’ he said at once. ‘There was a note propped up in the cellar, with a brief explanation. And a request for us to mind his dog!’

  ‘I’ll kill him, Pitcher, I’ll kill him,’ Emma wailed as tears, once unleashed, began to pour down her fat, red cheeks. ‘My poor girl! The humiliation!’

  They discussed the situation all through the night and decided that there was nothing they could do until the runaways decided to return.

  ‘As return they will, my dear.’ Pitcher assured his wife. ‘But what will be happening between now and then, well, best we don’t think about it.’

  The loss of Arthur, the potboy who had been a reliable and able member of the work force for years, was a more urgent consideration for Pitcher. With the inn regularly full, the boy would be greatly missed. As dawn coloured the sea and touched it with silver, grey, pink then gold, Emma and Pitcher made a list of those they could ask to help them.

  ‘With Madoc Morgan captured and his brother on the run, Vanora might be willing to come and live here and work in the bar? Or serve as our cook?’ Emma suggested.

  ‘I’ll send Arthur first thing…’ Pitcher stopped and bent his head. ‘Damn me, we’ll miss him as much as we’ll miss Pansy,’ he sighed.

  With Cadwalader and Vanora, the work at the Posthorn Inn simmered down to a comfortable routine. At first Vanora’s cooking was a source of disbelief to Emma.

  ‘You’d think she’d never seen an oven, Mr Palmer,’ she complained when she found the girl boiling a fine roasting joint of beef bought for the weekend visitors.

  ‘No more she has,’ Pitcher said with a smile. ‘I’ve been to that cottage of hers and when they were all living, there was hardly room for them all to breathe except in unison. The pot hanging over the fire was all they had. Even bread was a lack unless they bought some at the market.’

  With patient teaching, Emma showed Vanora the skill of preparing good meat and fresh vegetables and the art of presenting it other than dropping it onto plates in untidy piles. The girl was quick to learn and Emma was pleased with her progress but Vanora herself soon found that the work was not to her liking.

  ‘The cooking I enjoy,’ she told Emma and Pitcher, ‘but the walking through the diners and having them touch my skirts and even pinch my bum, well, it isn’t for me. I’ve been offered a place at Ddole House with Florrie and I think I’ll be taking it.’

  With a sigh, Emma looked into the ground floor kitchen behind the bar. It seemed that for all Pitcher’s determination to better their situation, and all the mess and inconvenience she had suffered in the preparation for it, that back kitchen was where she was likely to spend the next few years. She rolled up her sleeves and reached for the flour pot.

  ‘Find Percy, tell him I want lots and lots of wood for the bread oven,’ she sighed.

  * * *

  Florrie had hardly seen Daniels since the day of the Fair. That she had offended him beyond forgiveness by locking him in the foul-smelling bear cage was without doubt. She had heard from William that the Keeper of the Peace had not left the precincts of the Fair until long after darkness had fallen, the key conveniently eluding the searchers until sufficient time had elapsed for Markus and Edwin to be warned of his impending visit.

  ‘I was told that although he was furious at the delay, he still stopped at an inn to get his boots cleaned and polished before riding home,’ William told her. ‘And the visits he planned were postponed.’ He looked at Florrie and touched her shoulder in a kindly gesture. ‘Florrie, my dear, I know what you gave up so we could be warned. I thank you for it and promise th
at whatever your future holds, you will always have a place here, at Ddole House.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  William thought she looked melancholy. ‘Are you very sad about the loss of Daniels? Is there something I could do to persuade him of why you acted the way you did?’

  ‘Nothing, thank you, sir.’ She smiled a little and added, ‘Best really. I would have far less freedom than I have now, and suspect that I would have no more important a position. A housekeeper Daniels wants but a wife would be cheaper.’

  * * *

  It was on Thursday several days after the incident when Barrass heard about Madoc’s arrest and Olwen’s attempt to hide him. He hurried through the remainder of his calls, his horn blown impatiently at the village greens or the crossroads where he habitually stopped to collect or deliver letters. He was angry at her stupidity, wondering how she could have become so involved with the unsavoury activities of the Morgan brothers. The news that Morgan was still free made him want to begin looking for her at once to beg her to stop shielding him, if that was what she was doing.

  ‘She’s a fool!’ he muttered angrily, not realizing that she had said the same about him.

  His long, dark hair flowing about his broad shoulders and his deep brown eyes flashing angrily gave him a piratical air, and those watching him wondered at the depth of his fury but dared not ask the reason for it.

  It was early when he returned to the inn and at once he demanded of Pitcher, ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Olwen?’

  ‘I thought it best for her to tell you herself,’ Pitcher said. ‘And, to be honest, boy, we’ve enough to think about with Pansy gone and that Arthur with her. Haven’t slept more than an hour at a time we haven’t, jumping up at every sound in the hope they have come back. Nor will we sleep until we know what has happened to them.’

  ‘Sorry, Pitcher. You haven’t heard then?’

  ‘Not a word, though I hope every day for a letter to come to tell us they’re safe. Ben Gammon is asking everyone he sees, and in the town we’ve spent hours stopping travellers and asking if they’ve had sight of them.’

  ‘Hiding they are,’ Barrass said. ‘But who would have thought it? Arthur and your Pansy? They hardly had a moment together to talk, let alone plan this.’

  ‘Living in the same house, it wasn’t difficult for you and Violet…’ Pitcher said, staring angrily at Barrass. ‘Seems I’m too trusting to have been the father of girls.’

  Barrass hung his shaggy head but did not reply.

  On Friday, with no letters to deal with, Barrass went at once to look for Olwen. Each time he called at the cottage on the cliff, Mary shook her head. Olwen was either out somewhere or refusing to see him. Frustrated, he settled near the top of the steep path from where he could see the cottage door and waited for her to appear. But he did not see her.

  Mary came and spoke to him when the sun was beginning to set and brought him food.

  ‘She’s been out all this day,’ she told him. ‘Knew you’d be looking for her for sure, knowing it to be your day off from work. There’s no talking to her. Tried we have, but she won’t listen or tell us where Morgan is. She knows though, we’re certain of that.’

  He ate the food and after a brief talk to Mistress Powell, who looked as concerned as Mary about the girl’s defiance of the law, he went back to the inn to fill the evening helping Pitcher. He was glad of the crowded room and the work of feeding the variety of customers. He found that like Pitcher, he constantly expected to see Arthur pop his thin face out of the cellar door, and he grieved for the boy’s absence. As a reminder, should they forget, the dog followed them around in a confused manner, as if hoping for an explanation he could understand.

  Daniels came and asked if he knew where Olwen was hiding Morgan. Florrie also came to ask if he had seen the girl, as William Ddole wanted to see her. To both he had to admit he was not in her confidence.

  Cadwaladar seemed to fit into the work without a ripple of disturbance. He was quick and polite and Pitcher was grateful for his presence. He slept in the cellar with Barrass and Arthur’s dog, rising early and setting about the chores without waiting to be told what to do.

  ‘Lowri has gone with my mother, but I have no idea where,’ he told Barrass as they settled to sleep on the Thursday night. ‘It seems that people feel a touch of the same restlessness and go independent of each other, but called by the same mysterious need.’

  ‘I think not,’ Barrass argued. ‘Arthur and Pansy have long planned to run away, even before they asked Pitcher’s permission to marry and were refused, I think. Your mother is running away from trouble of her own making, isn’t she? They don’t compare.’

  ‘And Olwen? How do you explain her running from you?’

  ‘I can’t.’ Barrass turned on his side and pulled the blankets around him. He was silent for a while then said softly, ‘I thought we were friends and trusted each other. Like so many things, I was wrong about that. It seems she prefers those wild Morgan brothers to what I have to offer her.’

  ‘Offer her?’ Cadwalader queried.

  ‘Yes. Offer!’ Barrass snapped. ‘Marriage and my protection and love. That’s what I have to offer and she won’t even see me so I can tell her!’

  ‘Write her a letter,’ Cadwalader said. ‘There isn’t a woman living that would refuse to read a letter addressed to her and delivered by the letter-carrier of Gower.‘ He thought Barrass had not heard him as there was no movement from the bed alongside his own, but then Barrass sat up, pulled on his trousers and went up the stone steps. Cadwalader heard him go into the silent sitting room used by visitors, where paper and pen and ink was placed for the convenience of guests. He heard the striking of a flint and knew that in the light of a candle, Barrass was doing as he had suggested.

  * * *

  On Saturday morning, Barrass arrived in Swansea soon after six o’clock to collect his letters and found to his surprise that Walter was up, dressed and seemingly in charge of the office. The man had shaved, and before him on the wooden desk were ledgers into which he was adding rows of figures.

  ‘Walter. You’re abroad early?’ Barrass greeted him, then something about the man’s attitude puzzled him and he glanced to the bench behind the door and saw the two inspectors sitting there, dressed in black clothes with grey stocks; still wearing their tall, black silk hats they looked official and exuded solemn foreboding.

  ‘Walter?’ Barrass queried.

  ‘Walter Waterman is no longer the Deputy Postmaster,’ the thinner of the two gentlemen said. ‘Today, we will take over and we’ll stay until someone is appointed.’ The other man coughed and added, ‘If you wish it, you may apply.’

  ‘For now, I think I will take my letters and deal with today,’ Barrass answered in surprise. Me, an official of the King’s Mail! His dark eyes glowed at the thought. A dream come true! He wondered why he even hesitated.

  Then he knew it was Olwen. If she were here, he would only have to look at her to know she approved, and he would ask immediately for his name to go forward. Without her, even his long-held ambition to be a part of the world of the letter post was less than a mild thirst on a hot day.

  He helped a subdued Walter to sort the letters he had brought and collected the ones for him to take, leaving his own to Olwen tucked into a pocket. With the prospect of running the sorting office to consider, he pushed thoughts of Olwen to one side and forced himself to deal with the day’s work. Tomorrow he would be back in time for church. She would surely be there, with her parents? One decision made, the other to discuss when he eventually talked with her, he mounted Jethro and rode back to the inn.

  * * *

  Olwen hadn’t seen Morgan since he escaped from Daniels at the Fair. She had determinedly avoided Barrass, in case some jealousy on the part of his brother made Morgan do what the brothers had threatened, and implicate Barrass in their deeds. She spent the days wandering around the fields between Mumbles and Swansea, thinking that he would avoid his home, bu
t be drawn back to the places he knew.

  It was a week since the day of the Fair and although Daniels had spoken to her and her parents several times, he seemed satisfied that she knew nothing. If only she could talk to Morgan, help him, in exchange for his promise not to involve Barrass.

  The longing to see Barrass muddied her thoughts. Fear for him filled her mind so she could not think clearly about anything. Spider and Dan tried to persuade her to help on the boat but she refused. All she could do was search for Morgan and hope she found him before Daniels did, and be able to persuade him not to mention Barrass in his confession when he was caught. She ignored even the delicious food Mary prepared for her, unaware of the needs of her body, knowing only the need for Barrass. Pale-faced and thin, she knew Mary feared she was wasting away with the dreaded morbid lung disease suffered by the family of Morgans.

  She had never searched near the damp old house, convinced that Morgan would never go back there, the most likely place for Daniels’s men to watch for him, but something made her want to try. There was nowhere else and tramping the same fields day after day was becoming wearisome and futile.

  As she walked past Betson-the-flowers’s cottage and on up the green lane, she sensed that people were watching her. She saw no one but knew that Daniels had set people to lie in wait in case the wanted man returned to his home. She heard a horse, but although she stopped and listened, she saw no one. Nervously, imagining the eyes following her progress, she went closer to the house by the stream.

  When Barrass stepped out and held her arms firmly, she tried to struggle free.

  ‘Go away, Barrass, please!’ she gasped, trying to keep her voice low for fear of Morgan hearing them.