by Val Wood
Bella woke with a start when she heard what at first she thought was a cat mewling. Then she remembered. Her mother had had the baby. She got up cautiously from the chair, her neck and shoulders aching from the awkward slump she’d been in, and peered into the crib. Henry was working his mouth as if in preparation for a cry; he hadn’t woken during the night and she had slept after a fashion.
The day was just breaking. The curtains had been left open and the sky wore a livid flush on the eastern horizon. She picked him up and held him close to her cheek; he was soft and warm and she breathed in his fragrant scent and carried him to the window.
‘Look at that, Henry,’ she murmured. ‘Your first brand-new day; as brand new as you are, perfect and fresh and …’ She ran out of things to say to express her joy to be holding this new being, who had yet to discover happiness or anger or any other kind of sensation for himself.
‘Give him to me, Bella.’ Her mother sat up against the pillow. ‘He’ll be hungry and my breasts are full and aching.’
Silently Bella handed him over. So he does have feelings already, she thought. Hunger, and I suppose cold and heat, but he can’t yet put them into words.
She sat on the side of the bed and watched as her mother slipped open her nightgown and put the baby to her breast, where he nuzzled against her and latched on to her nipple.
‘How did he know where to find it?’ she said in amazement.
Her mother looked at her and then shook her head. ‘I don’t know, but nobody told him.’ She gave a small wistful smile. ‘Instinct, I suppose. Like animals know. It’s just ’same.’
‘Are you happy you’ve got him, Ma?’ Bella asked quietly. ‘You seem sad.’
Her mother looked down at the baby’s dark head and then nodded. ‘I am sad,’ she answered. ‘If your father had been here, he’d have been happy to have another son, but I can only worry that now there’s another mouth to feed.’
Bella frowned. ‘But Joe and William and I, we’re hardly bairns now, Ma,’ she reminded her again. ‘If we didn’t have ’Woodman, we’d all be out earning a living.’ She wouldn’t mention her foolish dream of being a teacher again. ‘So there’s onny Nell and Henry to provide for. And we’ll all pull our weight to make sure ’customers keep coming.’
‘You don’t know ’half of it, Bella.’ Her mother sounded angry and she didn’t know why. ‘It’s a responsibility running an inn and mekking it pay to keep everybody in food and clothing.’
She wanted to tell her mother that William would soon be gone, so that would be one less mouth to feed, but she couldn’t; she’d been pledged to secrecy by her brother. And she was puzzled too by her mother’s attitude. None of them received payment for the work they did at the inn, no money of their own to buy anything, any little treat that they might like from the village shop. Their mother kept hold of the purse strings. She was the one who bought cloth to make trousers, cotton or wool to make dresses and aprons, wool to knit jumpers and scarves; flour she bought from the miller, butter and milk from the dairy farmer in the next village and meat from the butcher who called once a week.
‘I’m sorry, Ma,’ she said penitently. ‘It must be hard, especially now without Father. But I’ll help you all I can, and I’ll make sure ’others do too.’
Her mother came downstairs a week later. Henry was thriving, his cheeks filling out and his belly already round and fat. Bella carried him through into the inn on the Friday evening to show him off to the customers.
‘Here he is,’ she said proudly. ‘Another innkeeper for ’Woodman. Unless he wants to spread his wings,’ she added. ‘He might want to do something else – like be a teacher, or …’ Her words faltered.
‘Nowt wrong wi’ being an innkeeper,’ one of the customers said. ‘And folks like us don’t learn to be teachers or doctors or such. No, salt of the earth we are.’ He nodded knowledgeably. ‘Innkeepers, farm labourers, carpenters ’n’ that. That’s what we do. Country couldn’t keep going wi’out us.’
The young man who came in every other Friday and ordered a glass of mild sauntered over from his corner to take a look at Henry. ‘Whose child is it?’ he asked.
‘My mother’s,’ Bella said shyly. ‘He’s my brother.’
She had barely exchanged more than a few words with him. She had only ever asked if he wanted the usual and he always nodded and said ‘Yes, please’. Now she realized that Joe was probably right when he’d said he was a toff; he had a quiet, moderate sort of voice, without an accent like theirs.
‘Ah! He’s a grand little fellow,’ he said, and gently patted the baby under his chin. ‘And I hope he’ll be whatever he wants to be.’
From out of the corner of her eye, Bella saw Joe’s smirk and his wink at one of the other customers. ‘I hope so too,’ she agreed.
‘Has he got a good voice?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got two younger sisters and I remember the din they used to make at feeding time when they were babies. Not now, of course. They’re much older.’
‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘He makes himself heard. How old are your sisters?’
‘Oh, quite grown up. Eight and ten.’
She nodded, not knowing how to continue the conversation, but, smiling, he moved away, back to his corner where he sat with his drink, and Bella went back to the kitchen with Henry.
I wonder how old he is, she thought as she began to prepare Henry for bed. Older than Joe, I think, and why does he only come in every other Friday? Where does he go on the other Friday?
She felt a warmth developing over her as she pieced together their few words. He was nice, she thought. A gentle voice and lovely eyes. Where is he from? We know everybody round here. She gave a sigh. I’d like to talk to him again. It would be nice to have a proper conversation with somebody. I bet he could talk about all sorts of things and not just the weather and ’price of wheat and barley. Does he know about books and poetry? Has he travelled anywhere? And why, she thought again, why does he only come in here every other Friday? And what’s his name?
CHAPTER EIGHT
SARAH WAS SLOW recovering from childbirth; she was sluggish and lethargic and seemed to take little interest in the baby, leaving most things, apart from the feeding, to Bella. Bella bathed and changed him, washed his clothes and put him to sleep in his crib. She thought her mother might have put him in her bed with her by now, but no, Sarah said she was afraid of lying on top of him and that he was safer in his crib.
Bella was sleeping upstairs in her own room again, but she left the door open in case Henry should cry, if he had colic after he’d been fed, or if he needed changing.
‘Ma,’ she said one day when Henry was almost a month old. ‘I think I should be doing more for ’customers now that you’re back on your feet.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘He’ll be thinking I’m his ma if I do everything for him.’
The inn had been quiet during the daytime, which Bella thought was fortunate as otherwise her first duty was to serve the customers. Sometimes when she was in the taproom she could hear Henry crying and wondered why her mother didn’t attend to him.
‘He’ll rely on you, that’s true,’ her mother murmured, ‘but it’s good practice for when you have bairns of your own.’
‘I’m not ready for that, Ma,’ Bella exclaimed. ‘I’m not old enough to have bairns. I’ve onny just finished school.’
Tensions were high between her and Nell, and with her brothers too. Joe complained that Nell didn’t do anything and that Bella didn’t do enough.
‘I’m at work all day,’ he complained. ‘And then serving drinks all night. I’m up at ’crack o’ dawn, you know.’
‘I do know,’ Bella retaliated. ‘Who gets up to cook your breakfast?’
‘Give over,’ William said to Joe. ‘We all work just as hard as you do, except Nell. She doesn’t do as much as she could.’
Nell turned her back on him; when she wasn’t at school she spent most of her time in her bedroom, avoiding as many jobs as she could.
; And so the bickering went on and their mother didn’t take sides or make comments, but merely walked out of whichever room they were in and closed the door behind her. Bella’s idea of having a rota had come to nothing and so they muddled through as best as they could, although none of them was happy about the situation.
Christmas was coming up fast. Sarah had decided that there wouldn’t be a celebration this year as she was still in mourning, but Bella objected, not on their own behalf but for the customers. ‘Ma,’ she implored. ‘Customers always expect a slice of pork pie and a piece of Christmas cake with their hot toddy on Christmas Eve. It’s what they’ve allus had. Father used to set it out all nice for them.’
‘Aye, I know he did,’ her mother said wearily. ‘But I don’t have the energy to prepare anything this year and it’s too late now.’
‘Mrs Chapman, ’butcher’s wife, makes a good pork pie. We could order from her this year,’ Bella urged. ‘Customers won’t mind if it’s not one of yours. Not for once, they won’t. They’ll understand, and I could make a fruitcake.’
Her mother reluctantly conceded that they could if Bella thought it was really necessary.
‘It is, Ma,’ Bella said softly. ‘We have to let ’customers know that everything is just as it always was, except,’ she added, ‘that Father’s not here.’
Joe wasn’t so pleased. ‘They’ll never go home if you insist on feeding ’em,’ he complained, and was grumpy with William when he interrupted to say he thought the whole point was that they wanted the customers to stay and spend more money.
It was a week before Christmas Eve and Bella had gone into the bar to help Joe instead of William who had a streaming cold and said he felt ill. He’d been working at a blazing fire in the forge and then walked home in a blizzard three days before and caught a chill.
‘I shan’t be able to work tomorrow if I don’t get over this,’ he’d wheezed, ‘and Harry’ll be right mad at me; we’ve loads of work on.’
His mother had put a hot poker into a tankard of ale and made him drink it and then sent him up to bed so that he’d be all right for the morning; then she told Nell that she would have to put Henry to bed instead of Bella.
‘So what’re you going to do, Ma?’ Nell complained and was given a smack for her insolence.
Bella had washed her hands and face and brushed her hair, put on an apron over her skirt, and then on a whim fastened a small red and white kerchief on her head to keep her hair tidy. It looked quite festive, she thought, without being too merry. The boys had been wearing black armbands since their father’s death but had now discarded them. Only their mother still wore mourning clothes.
She had just served Mr and Mrs Green with their porter and gin when the taproom door opened. She glanced up with a smile of greeting and heard Joe at the side of her murmur, ‘Here’s your fancy man, Bella.’
The young man hadn’t heard for he’d turned back to latch the door behind him.
‘Good evening,’ Bella said. ‘Didn’t expect you tonight. Weren’t you here last Friday?’
He laughed and she liked the way his mouth turned up into a proper smile. ‘Am I so predictable?’ he said.
Bella blushed. ‘We get to know all our regular customers. You usually come every other Friday.’
She took down a glass from a shelf and raised her eyebrows and he nodded to her unspoken question. ‘Please. A small mild.’
He was wearing a knee-length wool coat with a deep slit at the back and a warm scarf; he slipped them off and put them on the back of a chair. Beneath his coat he wore a deep blue buttoned waistcoat, a crisp white shirt with a cravat and dark breeches with leather boots.
‘You’re right, of course,’ he said, coming to the counter as she filled his glass. ‘I was here last Friday, but I shan’t be here next week. It’s Christmas Eve and I shall be at home.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘Where’s home? Are you local?’
‘In the middle of nowhere.’ He smiled. ‘Just outside the village of Hornsea. We can see the sea from upstairs.’
‘Oh!’ She handed him the glass and took his payment, and wondered where he was going now or where he had been. ‘That’s nice. I went to the sea once on a school outing. We paddled in ’water and collected shells. It’s a long walk for you. It’s very dark.’
He took a sip of his drink. ‘I’m not walking,’ he said. ‘I’m riding.’ He hesitated for a moment before adding, ‘I, erm, I lodge in Hull and stable my horse there. I’m a scholar at the Hull Grammar School and come home every other weekend. It’s too far to come every week, and besides, I have to study.’
‘Oh!’ she said again. ‘How lu—’ She wanted to say lucky, but thought better of it. Perhaps he didn’t think it was luck; perhaps he thought it was his right. He was obviously in a different position from her, a better standing altogether, where schooling was considered to be essential. So William had been right in his guess. ‘That’s nice for you,’ she murmured.
He nodded, looking at her over the rim of his glass with dark brown eyes.
‘Bella!’ Joe’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘Tek over, will you? I’m just going down ’cellar for some more spirits.’
‘I’m keeping you,’ the young man said, though there was no one else waiting to be served and Bella wondered why Joe had gone down to the cellar now. There were several half-full bottles of brandy, gin and whisky on the shelves.
‘No, it’s all right. We’re not very busy tonight.’
‘Bella!’ he said. ‘I’ve been coming here for months and never thought to ask your name.’
Bella felt a blush rise again on her face. ‘What’s yours, Mr—’
‘Lucan. Jamie Lucan,’ he said, ‘and your surname is Thorp, isn’t it? Your father told me, and of course the name is above the door. Do you work in the inn every night, or only on a Friday?’ He smiled as he spoke. ‘Seeing as that’s the only time I come.’
‘Every day,’ she said ruefully. ‘Joe and William are apprentices so they can’t be here during ’day; I had to give up school when my father became ill, so that I could help.’ Suddenly she felt like confessing; it seemed as if he might understand how she felt. ‘I wanted to stay on. I was a monitor in Standard VI. Miss Hawkins, my teacher, said that I could help with ’children, and – and …’ Was she fooling herself that she could have been a teacher? She had only been to a village school; she knew nothing.
‘You’d have been a teacher’s help,’ he said. ‘That would have been very satisfying, I’d have thought, and might even have led on to other things, like running a dame school.’ He glanced towards the door where Joe had gone out and lowered his voice. ‘But we can’t always do what we want, can we? It’s always down to our parents.’
Bella had a startling thought as she recalled something her father had told her. ‘If you’re still at school, are you old enough to drink alcohol? Our licence—’
‘Oh yes,’ he said quite seriously, although she thought she saw amusement in his eyes. ‘I’m eighteen, or at least I will be next week. We’re allowed to have a glass of ale with our supper.’
‘Eighteen,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And still at school!’
‘I finish in the summer,’ he explained. ‘And then, well, then I want to go to university. My master, Mr Sollitt, wants me to but my father has different ideas.’
Joe came back then and another two customers followed him in and Bella had to finish her conversation with Jamie Lucan to attend to them. She saw him finish his drink and pick up his coat and put it on.
She went over to him. ‘Goodbye, Mr Lucan,’ she said. ‘I hope you have a happy Christmas.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, and put out his hand to shake hers. ‘And the season’s greetings to you all too.’ He glanced in Joe’s direction. ‘I hope it isn’t too trying for your mother given the circumstances.’
‘We’ll do our best for her,’ she said, feeling a sense of loss. ‘But we’ve got Henry,’ she added. ‘He’ll keep us cheerful.
’
‘Henry?’
‘My brother,’ she said. ‘The baby!’
‘Of course.’ He smiled. ‘He’ll be a comfort, I expect.’ He buttoned up his coat and adjusted his scarf. ‘See you next year.’
After he had gone, Joe, who was leaning on the counter, gave a grin and whispered to her, ‘Told you he was a toff, didn’t I? Did you notice his coat? That wasn’t made by his ma from a length o’ second-hand cloth from ’pedlar!’
Bella shook her head. She didn’t want to admit he was right, even if he was. ‘He’s a student,’ she said. ‘Like William said. He goes to Hull Grammar School.’
‘And you’ve been serving him liquor!’ Joe drew himself up. ‘Shame on you, Bella Thorp. You’ll be losing our licence.’
‘We won’t,’ she said hotly. ‘I checked. He’s eighteen.’ Too late she realized that Joe was baiting her as she saw his grin.
‘Tekken a fancy to him, haven’t you?’ he taunted her. ‘Fancy your chances there, do you?’
‘Not much of a chance, I’d say.’ Johnson, the former plumber, had overheard him and spoke up. ‘That’s Mr Lucan’s youngest son from over Hornsea way. I did some work for Mr Lucan a few years back, when I could still hold a wrench. Lad won’t remember me,’ he added. ‘But I remember him. Very polite, he was, and wanted to watch what we was doing. We was digging drains to tek water from ’roof. Big job, it was …’ He chatted on, but Bella was no longer listening until he said, ‘… manor house, big estate, your father would’ve known of ’em. I expect his father’ll want him to join him eventually. He’s got an older brother and a couple of sisters too, I think.’
Bella was silent. Jamie Lucan must have ridden to the Woodman because it was halfway to Hornsea from Hull. He’d have put his horse in their stable whilst he called in for a drink. He must have been doing that each time he called. They had no stable lad here but he would have fastened his mount up in one of the stalls. Strange, though, she thought. I’d have expected him to want to go straight home after spending two weeks at school and in lodgings.
