by Val Wood
‘Father,’ Bella called down the steps. There wasn’t a lamp showing and although the cellar had a window, it wasn’t large enough to give any light. ‘Are you down there?’
There was no answer and she hurried back to the range and pulled the frying pan off the heat; the bacon was crisp and blackened and the eggs browned at the edges. She huffed out a breath of exasperation. What was she expected to do for her brothers? Eat it for them?
She went back to the bottom of the stairs and shrieked up to them. ‘Breakfast is cooked! I can do nowt more! I don’t know where Father is, Ma,’ she said more quietly. ‘I’m going to look in ’cellar.’
William appeared at the top of the stairs, washed and dressed. ‘Keep your hair on,’ he said. ‘I’m coming.’
‘Breakfast is spoiled,’ Bella grumbled, ‘and I don’t know where Father is. I bet he’s gone down ’cellar, though I can’t see a light.’
William hooked a bacon rasher out of the pan with his fingers and crunched it. ‘Mm. Just how I like it.’ He took a box of matches from the mantelshelf and drew out a match. ‘I’ll go,’ he said, taking off the glass shade of the paraffin lamp to turn up the wick and light it. ‘What makes you think he’s in ’cellar?’
‘Door’s open,’ Bella said. ‘And where else would he be? He’s not upstairs and not in ’taproom; ’outside doors are locked and Ma’s going to be right mad if he’s down in ’cellar.’
‘Why will she?’ William asked. ‘Why shouldn’t he go down ’cellar?’
Bella had a sudden feeling of panic. ‘Because he’s not supposed to,’ she muttered. ‘You know that ’doctor said he should ease up a bit.’
William blew out his lips. ‘Yeh, I’d forgotten that. He seems all right.’ He adjusted the wick and replaced the shade. ‘Come on then. Let’s see what he’s up to.’
But he wasn’t up to anything. For some reason, their father had put a woollen gansey over his nightshirt and gone down into the cellar. He was lying in a heap on the cellar steps, a snuffed-out candle by his side. He groaned slightly as they knelt beside him. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I rem-em-em-bered summat – I had to do. Best fetch ’doctor, I think.’
‘Fetch our Joe,’ William said to Bella. ‘I can’t shift him on me own.’
‘Should we move him, do you think?’ Bella asked in a small voice. ‘Shouldn’t we fetch ’doctor first?’
‘It’s freezing down here,’ William answered. ‘He’ll get pneumonia if we don’t move him. Father, did you fall or what?’
Joseph took a moment before answering. ‘I was coming back up,’ he gasped. ‘Got a pain. Just like ’last time.’ He began to shiver. ‘I’m cold,’ he muttered. ‘Fetch your ma. Tell her I need her here.’
Bella got up and scooted up the steps, only to meet her mother coming down the passage.
‘Father’s fallen,’ she said. ‘Will you go to him? He’s asking for you. I’ll just fetch a blanket.’ Her words came out in a rush, she was so nervous.
‘Fallen where?’ her mother asked sharply.
‘On ’cellar steps. I’ll get Joe to help William bring him up.’
She watched as her mother put her hand on the dado rail and eased herself along the corridor. She’s frightened, she thought, just like I am. William thinks he’s just had a fall, but he hasn’t.
‘Joe!’ she yelled. ‘Get yourself down here! Father’s poorly. Come now!’
CHAPTER FIVE
WILLIAM AND JOE carried their father into the kitchen. Bella had moved the chairs away from the table to make space and rushed upstairs for more blankets and a pillow, which she placed on the floor so that they could lie him down. He was a big man, taller and heavier than either of his sons, and they couldn’t possibly have got him up the narrow staircase to his bed.
‘Who’ll fetch ’doctor?’ Their mother rubbed and rubbed at her fingers as she spoke. ‘Will you, Joe? Or you, William?’
‘I’ll go,’ Joe volunteered and the mean thought flashed through Bella’s mind that he’d only offered so that he could take the morning off work.
‘See if you can borrow Mr Renfrew’s pony,’ she suggested. Mr Renfrew kept the village shop and did deliveries with his pony and trap.
‘I can run faster than that old nag,’ he said scornfully, and just as William had done he scooped up a bacon rasher with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. ‘I’ll be off then. What shall I tell him?’
‘Tell him to be quick,’ his mother said quietly, and he gave her a sudden open-mouthed look.
‘It’s not serious, is it, Ma? He’s not broken owt!’
‘Go,’ his mother said. ‘Tell him your father’s had another turn.’
Joseph was sweating and his breathing was laboured. He’d heard what his wife had said, and in a faint voice he muttered, ‘Tell him he’d better be wrong about this. Tell him to hurry and tell him I’m not ready for ’grim reaper yet.’
Joe’s face went pale. He stumbled over words that didn’t quite make sense, then he grabbed his jacket and shot out of the kitchen. ‘I’ll not be long,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll run.’
The doctor lived on the edge of the next village; it would take Joe fifteen minutes at least even if he ran all the way. Bella knelt by her father’s side and tucked the blanket round him.
‘Can I get you a drink o’ water, Father?’
‘Brandy,’ he breathed. ‘And tell your ma I want her.’
‘She’s here,’ Bella said, and moved aside so that her father could see her mother behind her.
‘Where? Where are you, Sarah?’
As Bella got to her feet, Sarah came closer. She sat on the nearest chair and reached out to touch his cheek. ‘I’m right here, Joseph. Joe’s gone to fetch ’doctor.’
Joseph turned his head towards her. ‘I nivver really believed him, you know – didn’t want to, I suppose.’
‘Hush,’ she murmured. ‘Don’t talk. Save your breath.’
‘I’ll – not be an invalid, Sarah.’ His voice was low and laboured. ‘But how will you manage if I’m not here?’
‘Hush,’ she said again, not answering the question he had asked once before. ‘Doctor might be wrong.’
Joseph’s face suddenly creased in pain and he screwed his eyes up tight. ‘Sarah,’ he groaned. ‘I can’t …’
Sarah clasped her fingers together as if she was going to pray, and pressed her knuckles hard to her mouth.
William, who had dashed to the taproom, came back with a small glass of brandy. He handed it to Bella, who took it, hesitated for only a few seconds and then knelt beside her mother.
‘Ma,’ she said softly. ‘Drink this.’
Sarah turned to her, a look of bewilderment on her face. ‘It’s – for your father,’ she said.
Bella blinked and pressed her lips together. She could feel tears welling up inside her, a tightness in her chest and a constriction in her throat threatening to choke her as she tried to swallow.
‘It’s for you, Ma,’ she faltered. ‘Drink it.’
William looked at Bella and then at his mother, and then at his father who was lying so still, and knelt down next to Bella.
‘Wh-what’s happened, Bella? Is Father – all right – or not?’
Bella shook her head, not trusting herself to say anything, looking at her mother who was slowly sipping the brandy and gazing down into her lap. She could do no more, she thought, because she didn’t know what to do next. Proper grown-up people would have to decide what happened next because she wasn’t old enough. I’m not even fourteen. I haven’t had my day off like Ma and Father said I could have. She began to shake, her limbs trembling, her thoughts reeling.
‘Take this, William.’ Sarah’s voice was quiet as she held out the empty glass to him. Then she slipped out of the chair and awkwardly bent towards Joseph and kissed his cheek.
They closed the inn that day and put a poster on the door saying they would be open the next day as usual. Joe had returned to say that the doctor would be there as soon as
he could; he’d obviously dawdled on the way back and was shocked when he was told that it was too late.
‘I ran as fast as I could,’ he said, almost as if he was excusing himself, as if he was to blame for being slow. ‘I didn’t know – I didn’t think that – how could it happen so quick?’
Bella felt sorry for him, and for William too, and thought that they should have been made aware of the situation as she had been, though they were right to keep it from Nell who hadn’t stopped crying since she’d come downstairs to find Joe and William struggling to carry their father to one of the small rooms off the corridor.
Their mother was quiet but stoical all that week and it wasn’t until after the funeral that she finally gave way and went up to bed. She asked them all to come upstairs and they stood at the foot of the bed, which now looked so large with only her in it.
‘Bella, you’re in charge of ’house until I get up,’ she said, ‘and Nell will help you after school, and Joe and William, you’ll look after ’customers when you come home from work. We won’t be busy; folk’ll understand and it’ll onny be for a short time. Bella, will you explain why I have to rest?’
And so it was left to Bella, when they were downstairs, to explain to her brothers and sister that there would soon be another child in the house.
‘Oh goody,’ Nell said. ‘I’ll be able to play with it and wash it and dress it. I hope it’s a girl.’
Joe was embarrassed, Bella could see, the way he reddened and looked away as she told them.
‘Crikey,’ William exclaimed. ‘I’d have thought they were too old …’ His voice trailed away and then he looked embarrassed too and glanced at Joe from beneath his eyelids.
‘Ma’s not too old,’ Bella said, and she too went pink, so they all but Nell were flushed and didn’t look at each other, ‘but I might as well say it so that you realize, she’s not young either and it’s eleven years since she had Nell, so we’ll all have to pull together so that she doesn’t get too tired.’
‘When …’ William cleared his throat. ‘When does she … erm, expect it?’
Bella gave a little shrug. ‘Don’t know exactly. Sometime in November I think.’
‘I hope it comes in time for Christmas,’ Nell said eagerly. ‘It’ll be like having a special Christmas present.’
William frowned and was clearly thinking things through. ‘But Father won’t be here and we’re always busy at Christmas.’
‘I’ll have to give up my apprenticeship,’ Joe said. ‘I don’t see how I can be expected to run things here and keep on wi’ carpentry.’
‘What do you mean?’ Bella was abrupt. ‘Run things?’
Joe stared at her. ‘Well, somebody has to,’ he argued, ‘and as I’m ’eldest—’
‘Ma is ’innkeeper,’ Bella declared. ‘She’s got her name over ’door. She’ll still be running ’Woodman and we’ll all be helping. It’ll be a family business.’
It was a month later, on a Saturday afternoon when Bella was helping her mother in the kitchen, that William came out of the taproom looking for his mother.
‘A Mr Saunders is asking for you, Ma. He says he’s ’licensing magistrate. Joe’s talking to him.’
Bella glanced at her mother; she wasn’t tidy enough for important visitors, Bella thought; she had cooked the midday meal and although Bella had urged her to sit down whilst she cleared away she was still wearing her kitchen apron and bonnet.
‘I’ll go and talk to him, Ma, while you change your apron. Shall I offer him a cup of tea or a drink?’
‘Tea, I think.’ Her mother was flustered. ‘Tell him I’ll just be a minute.’
Bella smoothed her hair, took off her own apron and went through to the taproom, where Joe was behind the counter talking to a gentleman in a smart tweed coat and carrying a bowler hat.
Bella gave a bob of her knee. ‘Good day, sir. My mother will be with you in just a moment. Can I offer you a cup of tea or coffee?’
He looked down at her. ‘No, thank you.’ He gazed at her for a moment longer. ‘I’m sorry to hear of your father’s death. Most unfortunate. I hope you are all coming to terms with it.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘We miss him but we must all pull together and get on with our lives; that’s what our mother says Father would have wanted.’
He nodded. ‘And does your mother still intend to run the Woodman, now that your father isn’t here?’
‘Oh yes, sir. They’ve always been equal innkeepers, although Father did ’cellar work; but we all work in ’Woodman, except for our youngest sister. Father taught us what to do.’
Saunders glanced at Joe. ‘Your brother tells me that he will apply for the tenancy as soon as he’s old enough.’ Bella must have looked startled for the magistrate raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that not the case?’
‘My mother has no intention of giving up ’tenancy or ’licence, sir. With our help she’ll continue as before.’
She wanted to glare at Joe for being such an idiot as to imply that he would take over from their mother, but she couldn’t; in front of Mr Saunders she must show a calm face and manner. The door opened and her mother came in. Sarah had put on a clean apron over her black mourning dress and a black lace cap, and although she looked pale she managed to smile at the magistrate.
‘It’s kind of you to call, Mr Saunders,’ she murmured. ‘Very kind.’
‘Dear lady.’ He gave her a polite bow. ‘I came to offer my sincere sympathy for your loss. I trust you will not consider this an intrusion so soon after your husband’s passing, but it was necessary for me to ascertain that you are able to continue as licensee.’
‘I am, sir,’ she said quietly. ‘It won’t be easy during my mourning period, but with my family’s help we’ve managed to keep open and onny closed for two days: one on ’day of my husband’s death and one on ’day of his funeral.’
Saunders nodded, for he knew that a widow would not be seen in public during the mourning period and needed to ascertain that, as licensee, she was nevertheless on the premises whilst alcohol was being served.
He tapped his top hat lightly. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You are very fortunate to have such reliable sons and a daughter to help you through this difficult time.’ He gave a nod to the two boys and Bella, and said, ‘I won’t detain you any longer, Mrs Thorp, but if I can help you with anything then don’t hesitate to call on me.’
Sarah thanked him for coming. Then she said, ‘Bella, see Mr Saunders to the door,’ and gave a slight bob of her knee as Bella had done. William nodded and said, ‘Goodbye, sir’, whilst Joe, still behind the counter, watched without saying a word.
When Bella came back in they took a collective breath.
‘What a toff!’ Joe grinned.
‘Smart, wasn’t he?’ William said. ‘Bet he’s been in ’military.’
Bella looked at her mother. ‘Why did he really come?’ she asked. ‘Was it about ’licence?’
‘Aye, I reckon it was, although he knew your father so he might have been sorry like he said.’ She screwed up her mouth and the confident manner she had displayed in front of Saunders seemed to melt away. ‘I was worried, I’ll admit, but what a good thing your father was forward thinking enough to put me down as licensee as well as him.’
William frowned. ‘What would have happened if he hadn’t, Ma?’
His mother grimaced. ‘Well, if I wasn’t granted a licence, we’d have had to leave. Nobody nowadays can run a hostelry or public house without one and ’owner of Woodman wouldn’t have just let us live here; and anyway how could we afford to without the business?’
When their mother had gone back into the kitchen, Bella turned on Joe. ‘Why did you tell Mr Saunders you’d be taking on ’tenancy?’ she demanded. ‘He’d see that you weren’t old enough!’
‘I said eventually, didn’t I?’ he retaliated. ‘I wanted him to know that we didn’t intend moving out. That there’d be somebody here to run it.’
‘Well, that’s for M
a to say, isn’t it?’ William butted in. ‘You can’t mek decisions for her. She might not want to stop here now. Now that Father’s gone, I mean,’ he added, hanging his head.
Bella looked from one brother to the other. She felt anxious and disturbed. There seemed to be discord creeping into their lives. Surely Ma would want to stay here. It was their home. They’d all been born here, and she supposed that she wouldn’t really mind too much if Joe eventually took over the inn, providing he didn’t expect her to skivvy for him; but then, if she couldn’t be a teacher, she saw no reason why she shouldn’t be a licensee too, if she wanted to be. She sighed. But none of them were old enough. It would be years and years before that could happen.
She went back into the kitchen; her mother was sitting down gazing into the fire.
‘Ma,’ Bella said, sitting opposite her. ‘Do you want to stay here for ever?’
Her mother looked up. ‘Here?’ she said vaguely. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, we’ve always lived here, haven’t we? I can’t think of us ever going to live anywhere else. I used to think, you know, even when I dreamed that I might be a teacher, that wherever I went, I’d always come back here, back home to you and Father.’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘But it won’t be like that now, will it, and I just wondered if other things might change as well, and …’ She found it hard to put into words what she meant: that the Woodman, where she had been brought up, would always be home.
‘And if …’ She was hesitant, uncertain, confused even. Would her life be dependent on men like Mr Saunders, or their landlord whom she had never met, or even on her brother Joe? Not William – she knew that William wouldn’t be staying no matter what everyone else decided and that he wouldn’t have any influence on her life. ‘Well, I just wondered what would happen to us, that’s all.’
Her mother shook her head. ‘Child,’ she murmured, ‘how can I tell what’s coming? I’m having difficulty dealing wi’ present, let alone ’future. A year ago, who’d have thought I’d be a widow woman wi’ five bairns to tek care of and an inn to run.’ Her voice became melancholy. ‘Life’s dealt me a bitter blow and no mistake. This child I’m carrying’ll be a burden to me, for I thought I’d done wi’ all that.’
