The Innkeeper's Daughter (13 page)

‘Put half a pork pie in and that should be enough,’ her mother said. ‘We don’t want it to look as if we’re giving charity;
she
wouldn’t like that if I know Ellen Walker. Just tell her we’ve still got food left over from Christmas Eve.’

Bella went upstairs to fetch her outdoor boots and coat and a warm shawl and paused to look out of her bedroom window. The sky was darkening; a bank of thick cloud, slate grey, almost black, flat as a plate and with an ominous orange underglow, and others almost summery, white and fluffy like whipped cream against patches of blue, were heading inland from the coast.

‘Snow,’ she murmured. ‘I’d better not take long; those clouds will be over us in an hour.’

She called to Nell to ask her if she wanted to come with her. Nell was a chatterbox and she would talk to the children whilst Bella asked about Alice. Surprisingly, Nell agreed to come.

‘It’s Janey I was telling you about,’ she said. ‘Who doesn’t have any breakfast before she comes to school. She says she’s not coming back because her ma’s got another bairn and she’ll have to look after him. I don’t know whether she’s making it up or not or whether she doesn’t want to come.’

‘She won’t be making it up,’ Bella said. ‘And you’re not to ask awkward questions, Nell. They don’t have much money to spend on clothes and boots to send their bairns to school.’

Bella wished she hadn’t brought Henry out; the wind was sharp and cut their cheeks and she huddled him under her coat and shawl.

Nell did nothing but grumble. ‘I wish I hadn’t come,’ she said. ‘It’s freezing. What’s in ’basket?’ She lifted the cloth covering the food basket she was carrying. ‘Are we giving them our supper?’

‘No, we’re not, and not a word to your friend that we’ve brought them food. She’ll be embarrassed.’

Nell shrugged. ‘She’s not really my friend. I just know her. She sits at ’front of class wi’ babies so that she can keep an eye on them. She doesn’t really learn much. She puts her head on ’desk sometimes and goes to sleep and ’teacher never wakes her.’

They reached the village and turned off down a track where there was a terrace of three labourers’ cottages built of brick, boulders and rubble with pantiled roofs. Behind them was rough grass with two pigsties and a wooden structure which Bella assumed housed a privy.

‘Which house is it?’ Nell asked.

‘Middle one,’ Bella said. ‘At least, Alice used to say theirs was a warmer house than ’others because it was in ’middle. Knock, will you?’

Nell rapped with her knuckles on the planked door; there was no brass knocker like the one on their side door.

The door opened a crack and a grey-faced woman peered at them.

‘Who is it?’ Her voice was hoarse. ‘What do you want?’

‘Mrs Walker, it’s Bella Thorp. Alice’s friend from ’Woodman.’

‘She’s not here. What do you want her for?’

‘I – I just wanted to know how she was getting on up at ’big house. Did she come home for Christmas?’

Mrs Walker opened the door wider; she was holding a baby who looked about the same age as Henry, except that he was thinner and paler and was making little whimpering sounds. He was wrapped in a thin shawl and beneath the shawl he wore an old and grey shirt wrapped about his bare legs.

‘Aye, she did. Just for ’day, and then went back at teatime.’ She looked at them expectantly. ‘Was that all? It’s just that I’m a bit busy.’

‘Erm, can we come in for a minute? Ma’s sent this basket of victuals,’ Bella said. ‘It’s what was left over from Christmas Eve – you know, we allus put food out for ’customers.’

‘Do you?’ Mrs Walker said vaguely, looking from Bella’s face to the basket which Nell was holding and then back again at Bella. ‘You’d better come in then.’

They went in through the low doorway into a darkened room. A small fire burned in the grate and a cooking pot hung over it. Whatever’s in there will take for ever to cook, Bella thought.

‘There’s some goose,’ she said, as Nell put the basket on the bare table. ‘And pork pie, and bread, and a slice of Christmas cake; Ma sent her regards to you and said she hoped you didn’t mind and that you’d be able to use it, as she can’t abide waste.’

Her mother hadn’t said that, but Bella felt that she might have done, seeing as Mrs Walker didn’t like charity, though when Bella lifted her eyes she couldn’t see any sign of a meal’s having been eaten or being prepared. What she did see though, now that her eyes were adjusting to the gloom, were three pairs of eyes looking at them. A child of about three was sitting on the knee of a girl of Nell’s age – that would be Janey, Bella reasoned – and another younger child was sitting on the floor beside her.

Mrs Walker nodded. She seemed to be sleepwalking, Bella thought. It was as if she wasn’t awake, as if she was too weary to notice what was going on. Then she spoke, slowly and hesitantly.

‘Thank you. You could be just in time. My bairns are starving.’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MRS WALKER PUT
her hand on the table as if to steady herself, hitching the baby on to her bony hip.

‘Alice brought some scraps home from work.’ She licked her lips as if they were dry. ‘A slice o’ bacon and a crust o’ bread. I think she stole ’em,’ she whispered. ‘Mr Walker ate ’em, cos he has to go to work, though I’m hoping he’ll have been given some dinner up at ’farm.’

‘And what have ’rest of you had, Mrs Walker?’ Bella felt sick. What if one of them died whilst she was there?

‘Nowt since yesterday. Master gave Mr Walker a guinea fowl for Christmas Day but there was nowt on it by ’time I’d plucked it.’ She looked in the direction of the pot over the fire. ‘Bones are in there wi’ a potato and carrot tops that my neighbour give me.’

‘Did ’parish not give you owt? I thought—’

‘Aye, everybody thinks that ’parish council gives a handout. And sometimes they do. They’ve loaned me sheets and a blanket for ’bairn and they give me milk and oats to mek porridge after I’d had him – to build up my strength, you know – but nowt since. My husband’s in work, you see, and we should be able to manage, but wi’ seven of us it’s hard.’

Bella thought she was counting Alice, but she wasn’t, for as she finished speaking the door opened and a young lad came in dragging a tree branch.

‘Look what I found, Ma!’ His voice was filled with triumph
and
he had a huge grin on his dirty face. ‘It was at ’bottom of a ditch near Mr Agnew’s farm. It doesn’t belong to anybody.’

‘Good lad.’ Mrs Walker suddenly became animated. ‘Tek it outside and jump on it and brek it up and we’ll soon have a blaze going and ’pot on ’boil afore your father gets home.

‘Thank you ever so much, miss,’ she said, turning to Bella. ‘Tell your ma it’s much appreciated.’ She hesitated for a second and then said, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve a bit o’ goose fat to spare, have you? It’s just that young Tom here has got a rattling cough and I’d thought to rub his chest wi’ goose fat if I had any.’

Bella nodded. ‘Yes, I think so. Shall I bring it tomorrow?’

Mrs Walker chewed on her lip. ‘Could Seth come back wi’ you to get it? I’d rub it on ’bairn’s chest and wrap him in flannel afore he goes to bed if I had it.’

As if on cue the child sitting on his sister’s knee began to cough. It was a disturbing hacking sound, made worse when he started to cry. Mrs Walker swapped children, giving the baby to the girl to hold whilst she took the wailing toddler, who held his hands up to her. She rocked him in her arms and patted his back.

‘Yes,’ Bella said. ‘Course he can, and somebody’ll set him back again. It’s going to snow, I think.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about Seth,’ his mother said. ‘He’s not afeard of ’dark, he’s oft out in it.’

The boy came back in with the broken wood and his mother told him he was to go with Bella and her sister to the inn. He nodded, not grumbling or objecting as Bella thought he might.

‘All right,’ he said, and grinned at Nell. ‘I know you. You sit at ’back of ’class, don’t you? I once pulled your ribbon out.’

‘Oh, it was you, was it?’ Nell said agreeably. She had been quiet whilst Bella was talking to Mrs Walker. ‘I haven’t seen you lately.’

‘That’s because I haven’t been,’ he said cheekily. ‘I’ve got better things to do.’

‘Go on then,’ his mother said. ‘And come straight back.
There’ll
be hot broth waiting for you. Thank you again, miss,’ she said to Bella. ‘I’m very grateful.’ A shadow of resignation crossed her face. ‘Too grateful to be proud.’

It began to snow as they walked home and Bella once more hid Henry under her coat and wrapped the shawl around her head. Nell grumbled that she was cold and that she was getting wet, which they all were as the flakes were coming thick and fast, but Seth didn’t seem to mind and charged about, his arms held wide as if he were a soaring bird. His cap, which was too big for him and came down over his ears, was covered with snow, and his cut-down breeches, which were too wide in the seat and came down only to his calves, flapped against his bare legs.

‘Come on, Bella,’ Joe said, when they arrived back. He was sitting by the kitchen fire toasting his toes. ‘Where’ve you been? We’ll be opening up in an hour.’

‘There’s nowt to be done.’ Bella propped Henry up in a chair with a cushion to stop him falling out. ‘Everything’s ready. I cleared up while you were out with Ma.’

‘And I helped,’ Nell butted in.

‘Aye, all right,’ Joe sighed. ‘But mek us a cup o’ tea. Who’s this then?’ Seth was standing by the kitchen door with his cap in his hands.

‘Seth Walker, sir,’ Seth said. ‘I’ve come for summat or other. It’s nice and warm in here, ain’t it?’ he added, gazing at the fire. ‘You’ve got a good blaze going. Is it coal?’

Joe laughed. ‘Yeh, it’s coal. Don’t you use coal?’

Seth shook his head. ‘No, onny wood or sometimes straw from ’bedding, but ’fire smokes when it’s damp.’

Joe scratched his nose. ‘You use straw bedding for ’fire? That’s a bit wasteful, isn’t it?’

Seth kept his eyes on the fire and moved closer. His legs were red raw. ‘I don’t mean animal bedding,’ he said, without looking up. ‘I mean our bedding. If ’little ’uns wet ’mattress then after a bit it gets right smelly and Ma has to burn it.’ He looked up then and caught Joe’s eye and grinned. ‘Don’t half mek ’house stink,’ he said.

‘Better come over here and get warm,’ Joe said. ‘What is it you say you’ve come for?’

‘He’s come for some goose fat,’ Nell said. ‘His brother’s got a cough and his ma’s going to rub it on his chest.’

‘I’ll lick him.’ Seth laughed. ‘I like ’taste o’ dripping, specially on bread.’

Bella paused as she dug into the tub of fat. ‘Where’s Ma?’ she asked.

‘Bottom o’ paddock,’ Joe said, meaning the privy.

Bella took a small bowl out of the cupboard and half filled it with the fat, then took a loaf out of the bread crock, cut a thick slice and scraped some dripping on to it. ‘Here,’ she said to Seth. ‘Eat that while you’re waiting.’

‘Ooh, thanks!’ Seth’s eyes lit up. ‘Can I have some salt on it?’

Nell passed him the salt jar from the shelf at the side of the oven and he ladled a spoonful on to the bread and stuffed it into his mouth.

‘Mmm,’ he moaned. ‘That’s ’best dripping I’ve ever tasted in my life!’

Bella went into the larder and found a glass jar and poured half a pint of goat’s milk into it. She secured the top and placed it in a deep basket; then she cut a slab of cheese and wrapped it in a muslin cloth and put that in as well. She took the basket back into the kitchen, put the bowl of goose fat in it and covered it over with a clean tea towel.

‘There you are,’ she said to Seth. ‘Bring ’bowl and ’basket back tomorrow, will you? Joe, will you set him home? There’s a blizzard blowing out there.’

‘And you want me to go out in it?’ her brother complained.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’ll do you good to see how other folk live.’

‘Oh, there’s no need,’ Seth said. ‘My da’ll call me a right softie if he thinks somebody’s setting me home.’

‘Halfway then,’ Bella compromised. ‘Just to ’bottom of his lane.’

Joe got out of his chair and shook a finger at Bella. ‘You’ll have to mek up for this,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you go?’

‘Cos I’m going to warm up William’s supper, that’s why. He’ll be home any minute.’

‘What’s happening?’ Their mother came in, her shawl white with snow. ‘Who’s this?’

‘Seth Walker,’ Bella said. ‘Alice’s brother. Did you know that Mrs Walker has a bairn about ’same age as our Henry?’

‘He’s six months,’ Seth said. ‘He were born in July. But he’s not very big.’

‘No, I didn’t know,’ Sarah said. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, no reason.’ Bella was flustered; there was a reason but she wasn’t going to discuss it now. ‘I’m giving Mrs Walker some goose fat, is that all right, Ma? One of her bairns has got a bad chest.’

Sarah looked at Bella’s pleading face and then at the basket on the table and then at the boy whose lips dripped with grease and who was gazing anxiously at her; and she gave a little nod.

‘Finest thing for a cough,’ she agreed. ‘Tell her to wrap him in warm flannel,’ she told Seth, ‘and if you wait a minute I’ll give you a jar of honey to ease the soreness.’

Seth’s eyes grew wide. ‘Ooh, thanks, missis.’

Sarah’s eyes grew soft. ‘I remember you when you were a babby,’ she said. ‘A right bonny bairn you were, and now look at you, you ragamuffin,’ she added crisply. ‘Fetch a jar out of ’cupboard, Nell, and don’t forget to bring ’jar back when it’s empty,’ she told Seth.

The boy looked sheepish, as if he didn’t know whether she was joking or not, but Bella smiled and handed him the basket.

‘How do you know them, Ma?’ Bella asked after Seth and Joe had left. ‘They live right at ’other end of ’village.’ She shook out the tablecloth and set it on the table with plates and cutlery.

‘When we first came to ’Woodman and we were newcomers to ’area, Ellen Brown as she was then came and asked us if there was a job going. I asked her if she knew how to look after bairns, cos I’d just had Joe, and she said that she did
as
she was ’middle one of twelve. She’d be about seventeen, I suppose, and very chatty and industrious and told me who was who in ’village; we took her on and she stayed wi’ us for about two years, I suppose … after I’d had William, anyway. She was a nice lass,’ Sarah added. ‘I liked her. Then she married and got pregnant and left. She lost that bairn and then had another and he died when he was a twelvemonth; pneumonia, I think.’ She sighed. ‘She’s had a hard life, but she was allus proud and wouldn’t accept help. Her husband’s a hard man, from what I hear.’