The Innkeeper's Daughter (41 page)

‘No, it isn’t.’ Bella got to her feet. ‘We’ve all worked very hard.’

Henry was standing behind her and jumped out of the way.

‘So who’s this?’ William asked, surveying Henry. ‘Do I know you?’

‘I’m Henry,’ the child said. ‘I’ve been singing for ’queen. I’m going to be a singer.’

‘You’re nivver that young babby?’ William said. ‘Can’t possibly be!’

Henry nodded solemnly. ‘I know who you are but I don’t remember you – at least, I don’t think I do.’

‘And you’re going to be a singer? Just like your sister Nell; do you remember her?’

Henry nodded again. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, but Sarah interrupted by saying to William, ‘What do you know about Nell? She left home after we came here and you weren’t here then.’

William grinned. ‘Miss Eleanor Nightingale! The singing sensation. I’ve seen her, Ma, heard her sing! But I didn’t meet her. I was in a lot of pain and had to leave ’theatre afore ’end of show.’

Sarah sat in front of him, her hands clasped, agog to hear more. ‘You’ve seen her! How did she look, William? How did she sound? Did she get applause?’

William looked at his mother’s eager expectant face, and lied. ‘She was brilliant, Ma, you should’ve seen her, and applause – well, several curtain calls. They couldn’t get enough of her.’

Sarah sat back and smiled. ‘Well, just fancy that. How proud I am of all my bairns. A singer, a brave soldier, an hotelier, a clever little lad and you don’t know yet, William, that Joe is ’landlord of ’Woodman and his wife’s just given birth to a daughter.’

A truckle bed was brought down into the kitchen for William to sleep on, as he couldn’t get up the stairs.

‘There’s a room for you on ’top floor,’ his mother told him. ‘We had enough space and I knew you’d be back once you’d finished your soldiering.’

‘Thanks, Ma, but this is fine for ’time being.’ He didn’t have the heart to tell her he had other plans for his future, and
they
didn’t include running a hotel, which Bella was doing very well by the look of it.

Bella came and sat with him the next morning once she’d organized everyone to their tasks. He’d had a wash and had shaved off his beard and looked more like the William of old, except that his eyes were puffy and she guessed that he hadn’t slept well.

‘So tell me what happened to you,’ she said. ‘How did you get your injuries?’

‘No, you tell me what you’re doing running a fine place like this. I couldn’t believe it when I came through ’door.’

She smiled. ‘You wouldn’t have believed it if you’d seen it when we first came; it was derelict. We thought we’d got a pig in a sack, as Reuben would say.’

‘Reuben? Who’s he? A sweetheart?’ William raised his eyebrows.

‘No. A very good friend who’s advised us on all kinds of matters. You’ll meet him later when he comes in for lunch.’

‘Lunch? Not dinner then?’

‘Whatever you want to call it,’ Bella said. ‘We put luncheon on for guests.’

‘And this Reuben? Has he got designs on you, seeing as you’re so successful?’

She laughed. ‘He’s too old for me, or I might consider him. He’s lovely; so kind and thoughtful, he’s almost like a second father to me. He has even said that I must be careful who I marry as I could lose everything.’

‘And are you considering marrying somebody, Bella?’ William raised a smile. ‘You’ve grown into a right bonny lass; even I can see that and I’m your brother.’

‘No,’ she admitted, ‘though I think I might have an admirer.’

‘Ho ho! I’d best tek a look at him and see if I approve,’ he said, and from his tone she gathered he wasn’t really joking.

‘I’ll make my own mind up, thank you,’ she said pertly. ‘I make my own decisions nowadays.’

William gazed at her in admiration. ‘You’re a marvel, Bella,
running
your own life and business; I know it’s you and not Ma. Would you still like to be a schoolteacher?’

‘Not now.’ She smiled. ‘I feel as if I’ve achieved so much here, more than I could ever have hoped for as a teacher’s assistant, for it’s doubtful that I’d have become a
proper
teacher. But I’ve taught Henry,’ she added. ‘He could read and write before he started school and he’s a very clever child. He won’t really be a singer; he’s only saying that because he sang in front of ’queen. But now it’s your turn. Tell me about your injuries and how you got home.’

William told her briefly what had happened, not about the bloodier aspects of fighting but mainly about being shipped back to England with a broken leg and being in fear of losing his injured foot. ‘I would have done,’ he said, ‘but for two young doctors treating me, and oddly enough one had only got caught up in the debacle because he’d gone to look for his friend.’ He shook his head. ‘He died out in Scutari, apparently.’

‘The doctor did?’ she asked in astonishment. ‘How was that?’

‘Bad conditions,’ he said bluntly. ‘You wouldn’t believe— anyway, when I got back to Blackwall this other doctor had been seconded to help, even though he said he didn’t know if he’d qualified.’ He grinned. ‘I told him he was a quack!’

His grin faded and he became thoughtful, laying his head back on the sofa. ‘There was something odd though. Although he made no claim to being a qualified doctor because he was waiting for his exam results, Sergeant Thomas – he was in charge of ’wounded – had persuaded him to stay and help out wi’ lesser wounded like me, and those who were being shipped back to Scutari.’

Lesser wounded! Bella looked at William’s splinted leg, swollen ankle and seeping bandage which needed changing again, and shuddered to think what pain some of the wounded might be bearing.

‘So what was odd?’ she asked.

‘Well, Sergeant Thomas called him Dr James, but I went back with him to his London lodgings so as I could rest afore
’journey
home and, poor chap, there was a letter waiting for him to say his father had died, and another to say he’d passed his exams and was a doctor after all.’

Bella hoped this tale wasn’t going to take much longer, as there were the luncheon menus to attend to.

‘But he went out for summat,’ William continued. ‘I can’t say what, an’ honestly I didn’t mean to be nosy or owt, but I happened to notice that one of ’letters on ’small table near where I was lying down was addressed not to Dr James like Sergeant Thomas called him, but to Dr Lucan; and ’general in charge of ’cavalry was Major General Lucan, so mebbe he didn’t want anybody to know he was a relation of his.’

Bella’s concentration had started to slip as she knew she would have to cut William’s discourse short and go into the hotel, even though Mondays were not quite as busy as the rest of the week, but now her attention was caught and although she had missed some of his conversation the words Holderness, gentleman farmer and the name Lucan jumped out.

‘Did you tell him you were from Holderness?’

‘He sort of guessed, I think; he said he recognized the accent as being East Yorkshire. Odd, that. You wouldn’t know ’difference between it and ’rest of Yorkshire, would you, if you hadn’t lived nearby?’

‘No,’ Bella agreed. ‘You wouldn’t. I wonder why he didn’t say?’

She left William and went to continue her duties, but she couldn’t seem to settle. Could it have been Jamie Lucan? It seems such a coincidence. But why didn’t he say? Surely he was not too proud to admit he once knew us; William said he told him he would call again to see him. I wonder if he will. He doesn’t have to, of course; his obligation to get William home is over.

Reuben was introduced to William a few days later; the older man was very concerned about William’s foot injury and suggested that his mother should take off the bandage, which looked very tight. He drew in a breath when he saw the swollen ankle and seeping pus coming from the wound, and
recommended
that Sarah should bathe his foot in salt water and put on a clean bandage.

‘I don’t want to interfere, William,’ he said, noting the young man’s pallid face. ‘And I’m not a medical man, but I really think you should get a doctor to look at it. I do know a reliable one if you should—’

‘I’ll be fine,’ William interjected. ‘It’s painful, I admit, but this young doctor who brought me home said he’d call when he got back to Hull.’

Reuben frowned. ‘Did he say when that would be?’

William shook his head. ‘No. He had his father’s funeral to go to, on Wednesday I think it was. What day is it today? I seem to have lost track.’

‘It’s Friday,’ Reuben reminded him. ‘So he might have stayed to attend to family matters. There are generally things to do after a funeral.’

‘Aye, that’s right,’ William said, remembering his father’s. ‘Loads o’ stuff to sort out. Still, folks like his will be organized, I expect.’

‘Well-to-do, are they?’ Reuben enquired. ‘He might not be here before next week, and you really ought—’

‘Aye, I think so.’ William shied away from the idea of any other doctor treating the wound. He was more scared than he would admit of losing his foot, but he put his faith in the young doctor to do what was best for him, inexperienced though he was. ‘Farmers, I think they are. From somewhere in Holderness.’

‘Not the Lucan family, by chance?’

‘Aye, I believe so. Do you know them?’

‘No, I don’t, but there was an obituary in the newspaper. I’d heard of him; very well known in his district. A successful man, from all accounts.’

Reuben saw that William was tiring and in pain and asked if he had any medication he could take; when William said he had, he left him to get some rest.

He saw Bella on the way out. He told her, because he felt he knew her well enough to be honest, that both her brothers
were
obstinate young men. ‘William should have a doctor to look at his injuries,’ he said. ‘He has in mind to wait for this young doctor to call, but he might not. He will have other things on his mind, especially if he has just lost his father.’

Bella nodded. ‘What should we do, Reuben?’

The old man pondered. ‘It’s his decision, of course, but if he were my son I’d wait for a few days only and if he seems no better, or is sweating or delirious, I’d override him and send for a medical man.’

Bella gazed at him. Reuben didn’t mince his words; he always said what he thought. He was teasing his grey beard as he stood there, a sure sign that he was concerned.

‘Who?’ she asked. ‘Who should we send for, Reuben? We’ve never had to use a doctor since we came to live in Hull.’

‘You could use mine,’ he said. ‘He’s a good man. Kind and considerate and knows what he’s doing. If you should need him send Adam, he’ll know where to go. To Dr Birchfield in Albion Street.’

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

DR BIRCHFIELD TOLD
Jamie that he had arranged to take him on a visit to the General Infirmary the next day to view the facilities. It was only a five-minute walk from the doctor’s house in Albion Street. Jamie had seen it from the outside as he had walked there whilst still a student at the Grammar School, when he had first considered a medical career.

The doctor had also told Jamie he was welcome to stay with him until such time as he had given serious thought to the direction he might take. Jamie had already written to Sergeant Thomas to tell him that because of family circumstances he wouldn’t be returning to Blackwall. He was a little disappointed that Dr Birchfield hadn’t suggested he join him, until reason took over. I’ve only recently qualified, I have little or no experience, and he also knows that I’m still reeling from the consequences of my father’s death. Perhaps he’s assessing my worth, he thought practically; after all, he only knows me from my childhood.

Nevertheless, he had to speak to someone and he decided to take the doctor into his confidence, for there was no one else. The next evening, after a supper of tough, overcooked beef and watery potatoes, during which he reminisced sadly over Mrs Hopkins’s cooking, he asked if he might speak to him on a personal matter and ask his advice.

They sat in the drawing room beside a low fire and Jamie
told
Dr Birchfield the sorry tale of his father’s Will and the blow that he and his sisters had received.

‘I know that eventually I will earn a living and for now I can live within my means; I’ve been doing so in London whilst studying and if I work here in the north it should be more economical. But my sisters – they will have virtually nothing as a dowry! The money they’ve been left will have dwindled away by the time they are of an age to marry.’

Dr Birchfield sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. Then he pressed his lips together as if wondering whether to say something. He cleared his throat.

‘I may be quite wrong, but I have an uneasy feeling that there has been some malpractice here.’ He rested his chin on his clasped hands. ‘I have no good reason for thinking this, except that somewhere in the back of my memory I recall your mother telling me, when she realized that I could do no more for her, that “Roger will always look after the children, doctor, I have no fears on that score.”’ He gazed keenly at Jamie. ‘Your father would never have done anything to betray your mother’s trust. I’m convinced of it.’

‘I feel you are right, sir,’ Jamie said huskily. ‘He became difficult and cantankerous after her death, but now I am older I think he was probably grieving and then bitter over her loss, especially as he was left with all of us to care for.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘Something must have made him change his mind.’

‘Mm,’ Birchfield muttered. ‘Or else it was changed for him.’ He put up a finger. ‘Not that I am suggesting anything under-hand, but …’

But what, Jamie wondered? He has suggested malpractice. He stared at the doctor, who rubbed his chin and gazed back at him before turning his face away. He has raised a doubt in my mind. But what should I do?

‘Speak to your father’s lawyer.’ It was as if Birchfield had read his thoughts. ‘If he wrote the original Will, he would surely have questioned your father as to the reason for changing it.’

Jamie slumped into his chair. It wasn’t Smithers, our family lawyer, but his assistant, Binks, who said he had met my father only once. Was that when the Will was changed?