The Posthorn Inn

by The Posthorn Inn (retail) (epub)

  While Olwen was washing the slate floor of his kitchen, when the afternoon meal was finished, Vanora told her that William wanted to see her. She hurriedly removed the sacking apron she was wearing, and straightened her fair hair. He was sitting behind his desk and when she entered gestured for her to sit.

  ‘I’ve been to see the property, Olwen,’ he said.

  At once she tried to read on his face whether he was in agreement with her having it or not. He guessed her agitation and lowered his head to tease her.

  ‘I will let you and Barrass rent the field we discussed and the one beside it, five acres in all. Will that be sufficient?’

  ‘Two fields? Thank you, sir,’ she sat back in amazement. This was more than she had hoped. ‘And the house, sir?’

  ‘The house will be built where Barrass and your father suggested. It’s by far the best place.‘ He looked up then and smiled at her. ‘I’m sure you can’t wait another moment to run and share your news! Florrie says you can go and find Barrass and tell him. You will find him at the inn I suspect; it being a Tuesday, he will have long finished his calls.’

  * * *

  There was another waiting for news that day, but this arrived by post. Barrass handed a letter to Kenneth, who hurriedly snatched it, called for Ceinwen and began to lift the seal with impatient fingers.

  ‘It’s from the General Session of the Justices. News about my application for a licence to sell ale. This is the start of…’ His smile drooped and fell off his chin as the letter’s contents were revealed.

  ‘They’ve refused us?’ Ceinwen said.

  ‘They’ve refused us. The place is too small for an alehouse and the village has sufficient for the number of residents and visitors,’ Kenneth reported sadly. He threw the crumpled letter onto the table and sat down in his wooden chair. ‘What are we to do now, wife?’

  ‘Well, the selling I do at the door is giving us a small amount. If we increased what we sell, perhaps it will be sufficient?’

  ‘How can we increase what we sell? Fish and a few scraggy vegetables, some eggs from the fowls, what else is there?’

  ‘I have an idea that if we went to market early, and brought back supplies, there would be many people who would gladly pay a little extra to save themselves the bother of walking six miles to and from the town.’

  ‘And it would be me who has to go in each morning, I suppose?’

  ‘And that would still leave me with most of the work to do!’ Ceinwen raised her voice only slightly, but it was enough to warn Kenneth that she was determined.

  ‘We’ll try,’ he said without enthusiasm. ‘I will get up in the cold and dark of the morning and trek into town for what I think we can sell.’

  ‘I will give you a list.’ Again there was an unaccustomed firmness in Ceinwen’s reply.

  He nodded, throwing the disappointing letter into the fire. ‘And to think I refused to apply for the letter sorting office position because we were so sure of being granted a licence,’ he groaned. ‘Get me a mug of ale, will you?’

  ‘No, Kenneth. I think you should go at once into town and buy what we need. Today is not too soon to begin.’

  Kenneth foresaw a less than comfortable future ahead of him as he looked at the line of Ceinwen’s determined mouth.

  * * *

  As Christmas drew near, the preparations for the performance of the Interludes, the short plays depicting scenes made from the Bible or stories with a moral message, were being made. The actors and musicians rehearsed at the back of the inn in a room that was still awaiting completion. When Arthur and Pansy ran away, Pitcher had abandoned work on the room, lacking the heart to do more than plaster the walls and sweep the floors free of rubbish. The room was large, having been intended for a sitting room for parties of diners needing to talk with friends away from the noise of the bar-rooms. It was empty apart from the barrels and wooden boxes brought by the performers to use as a stage.

  Pitcher and Emma remembered a previous performance, when Arthur was a main character in each of the stories. The present preparations lacked excitement for them, although they helped willingly enough.

  With only three days to go before the first performance, at Ddole House, Emma was helping to shorten the dress of Vanora, who was playing the part of an abandoned wife. A doll, sewn and stuffed with hay, was clutched in Vanora’s arms and on her face Emma had painted lines to represent suffering.

  ‘Abandoning me to my fate in the cruellest deprivations of winter,’ Vanora wailed, practising her third speech. Her voice was strong, and Emma rubbed her ear and asked her to soften it. Then she looked at the girl and said wonderingly, ‘It’s a miracle that you have such strength in your lungs. I feared you would suffer the same as your sisters and brothers but it’s not to be, God be praised.’

  ‘The news of my brothers is not good,’ Vanora said. ‘I went to the prison yesterday but they were both far from well enough to talk. They are sleeping most of the day and night and refuse to eat, so the guard tells me. It’s small comfort they are too ill to take the punishment waiting for them.’

  They were both gloomily continuing with their work, Vanora reciting her part and Emma stitching the dress, when the door opened and the room was filled with a cold draught.

  ‘Close that door,’ Emma said irritably. ‘D’you want my poor fingers to snap with the freezing wind from the sea?’ She did not look up from her task, and Vanora ignored the interruption and went on muttering the words she was learning.

  ‘I beg you, sir, do not leave me and our child to perish in the bleak snow and cruel winter winds…’

  The wind blew towards the fire and smoke issued out making Emma cough. ‘Mr Palmer, will you be so kind as to close that door!’ The draught continued to pull the smoke but there was no response and she turned, gave a gasp and allowed the material she was holding to fall from her hands.

  ‘Pansy!’ She ran to greet her long absent daughter with a choking sob. ‘My naughty, wicked girl, where have you been?’ Then, over Pansy’s shoulder, she saw the gulping, nervous Arthur. ‘What do you want?’ she demanded. ‘How dare you come here after what you’ve done?’

  ‘I…we…that is…’ Arthur stuttered, his Adam’s apple bobbing like an onion in a pot of simmering stew, his voice at last an octave lower.

  ‘Mamma, we are married,’ Pansy stated softly.

  Emma uttered a strangled cry for ‘Pitcher’ and fainted. Arthur and Pansy managed to catch her before she hit the ground. Pitcher ran up the stairs having been told by Cadwalader that his daughter was home, and saw a sorry tableau, reminiscent of one of the Interludes they were preparing. He ran to Emma first and patted her plump face and called her name, then, with Arthur helping, managed to sit her in a chair and fan her face with the dress she had been sewing.

  ‘Pitcher, I dreamed that Pansy was back,’ Emma whispered.

  ‘We are, Mamma, Arthur and I are visiting you for the whole of Christmas.’

  ‘Visiting! Married? Are you really married?’ Emma asked weakly.

  Pitcher sat down and asked in a confused tone, ‘Tell me, right from the beginning so I’m fully clear. What’s happened? Where have you been?’

  With increasing confidence, Arthur told him. Emma recovered and listened to him, looking at Pitcher for a lead as to how she should react.

  ‘Glad we are, boy, to have you both back,’ Pitcher said when the story was finished. Emma could only agree.

  * * *

  The work on the new house beside the ruin of the Morgans’ old home went ahead whenever the weather allowed. The first stage of sinking a shallow trench and building a low wall of stone to support the mud walls was already completed before a week had passed.

  Slowly, the mud walls rose, each day a further layer of mud was mixed, and tamped down firmly, making the walls thick and strong with deep set window spaces that would one day be filled with frames and glass. As Barrass had guessed, there were many helpers including children who revelled in the joy of playing
with the mud as the wall rose, foot by careful foot.

  The floor was to be of mud too, but prepared with such care that it would be strong, easily cleaned and long lasting. Four barrels of earth were mixed with a bucket or two of lime and a barrow load of manure. Barrass had brought animal blood from the butchers’ stalls in the market and this, added to the mixture, gave the finished floor a shine.

  After the stones were removed, the mixture was beaten firmly then spread, until a layer was several inches thick. It was thumped with a spade, trampled by feet large and small, until it was smooth and level. Every evening, either Barrass or Spider would go and dampen the floor so it dried without cracks.

  Pitcher had little time to assist, but offered to buy the glass for the windows. Emma promised to give them a pair of pillows made from real duck down plus a pair of linen sheets for a wedding gift. Mary began sewing a quilt filled with sheep wool, to be embroidered with their names and the date of their wedding. Dan, when he wasn’t helping with the building work, began to make the patterned utensils Olwen had asked for and promised Barrass he would help him make a bed and two chairs.

  Many of the local families contributed to the wedding gifts with small offerings, sewing from the women and useful wooden pieces like shelves and boxes for candles and a wooden tub in which to do her washing, from the men. By the time Christmas preparations were well under way, and the wedding was arranged for early in March, Olwen was having to spread her collection of gifts between several of her friends. Some were in the room used by Florrie, at Ddole House, some at the inn in the care of Emma and some with Ceinwen and Kenneth. Meanwhile the house rose, was thatched and had windows shining in the late summer sun.

  Christmas was a happy time. Emma and Pitcher celebrated the return of Pansy, consoled to the idea of their potboy being married to their daughter and Daisy becoming so essential a part of the running of the inn that they no longer questioned her being there.

  For William the season was made joyful by news that when John Maddern returned next, he would be bringing Penelope with him. He had Florrie clean and freshen Penelope’s room and ordered her to have new curtain and bed hangings made.

  ‘I will leave the choice of them to you, Florrie,’ he said. ‘Just make sure that it looks as welcoming as possible. I want her to realize how much she is needed here, and how much she has been missed.’

  * * *

  When Florrie went into town to buy what she needed, she took Emma with her for company, calling for her at the inn on the Ddole wagon which was driven by David. The day was grey and bitterly cold, with a fog coming in from the sea and ice on the surface of the puddles. The horse made a fast pace to warm itself. The speed and the keen air made the faces of the passengers glow.

  On the road they met Olwen and Barrass, aboard Pitcher’s wagon. Barrass was driving, and looking as if he had been doing so for years, Emma thought. Reaching The Voyager Inn near the post office where they were to leave the horses, they went inside together for refreshment to warm themselves after the chilling ride.

  ‘I hardly recognized you, Mistress Palmer,’ Barrass smiled as Emma unfolded a blanket, then a shawl, then a thick cloak from her shoulders before revealing her woollen jumper and skirt.

  ‘I’ve never known such cold,’ she said, pulling the chair she had claimed closer to the roaring fire.

  ‘Mulled ale I think, innkeeper,’ Barrass ordered with a snap of his fingers.

  Olwen at once began talking to Florrie about the animals they had come to buy.

  ‘With winter feeding so expensive, many sell before the worst of the weather so we hope to have a few bargains,’ she explained.

  Emma sat warming her hands and watching the authoritative way Barrass dealt with the serving boy and remembering the request of Barrass for permission to marry her daughter Violet. She had peremptorily forbidden it, and wondered as she looked at him, tall, handsome and becoming more gentlemanly and confident by the hour, if she had been mistaken. She had had such dreams for her three daughters, imagining them married to fine, wealthy gentlemen from Swansea with huge houses to run and servants to command. She had spent money they could ill afford on their schooling, determinedly planting in their heads ideas and attitudes far above her own situation.

  Why had it all gone wrong? Violet was married to Edwin Prince, a wealthy man and with a sizeable house; and with a second child on the way she seemed to be content, but there was a wistfulness about her that Emma suspected of being a secret longing for Barrass. Now the twins, her beautiful twins, had failed to find themselves respectable husbands.

  Pansy was wed to the potboy, a most unprepossessing character who must have been a source of much amusement to their friends. She squirmed at the thought that she and Pitcher had been laughed at. And Daisy had abandoned all her fine friends and social attributes to work beside her father at the inn! Really, she railed silently, life was so unfair!

  They were soon warmed and comforted at least bodily, and Emma stood up to rewrap herself in the layers of coverings before setting out for the shops and the stalls around Island House, to begin their business.

  ‘I’m sent to buy fresh curtains and flounces for Miss Penelope’s room. Coming home she is,’ Florrie announced, unaware of the effect her words were having on both Olwen and Barrass.

  Barrass felt a sudden flutter of happiness he could not deny at the prospect of meeting Penelope again. He tightened his grip on Olwen’s arm and bent to kiss her as if to reassure them both there was nothing to fear, but his eyes were soft and moist as he thought of the red-haired daughter of Ddole House.

  The flutter in Olwen’s heart was fear. She had always known about the brief affair between Barrass and Penelope that had resulted in the girl being sent away. However joyfully she planned for her own wedding day, the spectre of Penelope had always been there, unseen but ever present. Hearing of the girl’s return was a cloud that threatened a devastating storm.

  With Barrass helping, Olwen chose several crates of chickens, a second goat and a cow with a calf. The pens Dan and Spider were making beside their new home were not quite finished and she had decided that until their wedding a few weeks hence, the animals would stay where Mary and she could look after them.

  ‘Soon they will be taken to their real home,‘ Barrass said as they placed their purchases in the care of one of the boys at the inn. He hugged her before they set off once again for the market. ‘Our life will truly begin on the day you become my wife.’

  Olwen hugged him back, burying her anxiety against his strong chest. Surely the sparkle in his eyes is really for me and not the thought of meeting Penelope, she pleaded with the fates. Please don’t let anything go wrong after I have waited for him so long. As if to swell the feeling of impending disaster, the day grew warmer and clouds built up. Before the two wagons set off for home with their passengers loaded with purchases, the rain had begun.

  * * *

  News arrived on Christmas day that the Morgan brothers had cheated the hangman and died. Daniels was at the inn when a messenger came to find him. He read the note and told Pitcher. No one had liked either Madoc or Morgan, but the end of their lives were so filled with misfortune that people felt sympathetic grief. Several went to call at Ddole House to offer their condolences to Vanora, the miracle survivor of the family, and Olwen felt inexplicable guilt that she had failed to save them.

  ‘They forced me to help them,’ she told Vanora, ‘and threatened to accuse me and Barrass of the things they had done, but I still wish I could have saved them from prison. For the few short weeks left to them they could have been free.’

  ‘Don’t feel remorse, their fate was decided when they were children,’ Vanora surprised her by saying. ‘Spoilt to the point of stupidity they were, the pair of them. Mam and Dad refused to see anything but good in them, and Seranne and I followed their lead. If we had been stronger then perhaps things would have been different.’ She looked at Olwen, then her glance slid away as she added, ‘I think Madoc w
as really fond of you, mind. I don’t think he would have really done what he threatened.’

  ‘I was so afraid.’ Olwen thought it was kinder not to tell Vanora about the time when the torn and partly burned letter had been placed in Barrass’s bed for Daniels to find.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Vanora hugged Olwen and smiled. ‘Best we forget it all now and look forward, you to your wedding and me to a comfortable existence here.’

  Olwen shivered and listened to the knocking coming from upstairs where preparations were in hand for Penelope’s return. With every passing moment, her wedding was further threatened.

  * * *

  Barrass met her that evening when she had finished her day’s work. She saw at once that something had happened. She could see latent excitement in the depths of his dark eyes.

  ‘I have news for you,’ he said calmly as he kissed her. Then he shouted, ‘I have been offered the position of Deputy Postmaster to Swansea!’ He lifted her and swung her around in the air. ‘Two dreams come true! You my promised bride and the position of an official for the King’s Mail!’

  ‘Barrass! That’s wonderful!’

  ‘Shall I take it?’

  ‘What d’you mean? Of course you will! It’s what you’ve always wanted, since you were a child!’

  ‘Only if you agree, Olwen. We make decisions between us from now on. Everything we do, we decide upon together, if you agree after we have talked about it, then I will accept, and gladly. I will be away from home for long hours, and there will be need to pay someone to be there when I am not.’

  ‘Perhaps poor Walter would help. Without the responsibility of the books, he would be able, I think.’