The Innkeeper's Daughter (7 page)

‘Come up, please,’ Bella said. ‘Ma said she wanted to have a lie-down.’

‘Quite right,’ the midwife answered, glancing round. ‘Better get her rest now while she can, though I expect she’ll be pleased to have your help; still, you’re all old enough to be able to look after yourselves, aren’t you?’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ Bella said ironically as she saw both Joe and William with their legs stretched out before the fire. ‘It’s nearly time to open up,’ she said to her brothers. ‘Are you going to get out of your working clothes?’

William got up immediately and headed towards the stairs before Bella did, but Joe still sat there without moving.

‘When I’m good and ready,’ he muttered. ‘Not before.’

Mrs Simmonds gave a little shrug and turned down her mouth. ‘Lads,’ she muttered. ‘He’s not like your da, is he? He was a worker all right, and it’s a pity he’s gone.’

‘Yes,’ Bella said quietly. ‘This way, please, Mrs Simmonds.’

The child, a boy, was born in the early hours of the following morning.

‘Well, there’ll be no more, you can be sure of that.’ Ada
Simmonds
wiped the sweat off her own brow before wrapping the baby in a clean towel and bending over the mother to put him in her arms.

‘Give him to Bella,’ Sarah said, turning her head away. ‘I just want to sleep.’

Mrs Simmonds raised her eyebrows, but said nothing and opened the door. Bella was sitting at the top of the stairs with her head bent to her knees.

‘Come on in, lass,’ the midwife said. ‘Your ma’s fair worn out.’

Bella scrambled to her feet, almost falling over with tiredness. Everyone else had gone to bed, the bedroom doors firmly shut.

As Bella took the child from Mrs Simmonds and saw his damp dark hair, his flickering eyelids and rosebud mouth, she had a sudden vague memory of another baby, Nell, who had taken her place at her mother’s breast. A recollection of being pushed away so that the newcomer could suckle instead of her, and of howling in dismay until a sharp slap on her leg made her catch her breath.

Now she looked down at this sleeping babe and smiled. ‘He’s beautiful, Ma, simply beautiful.’

Her mother didn’t answer, but lay gazing towards the window, not seeing, only remembering.

‘What’ll we call him?’ Bella asked softly. ‘I wish we could have called him Joseph after Father, but we can’t cos of Joe.’

‘Henry,’ her mother murmured. ‘It was your father’s middle name.’

‘Henry! I never knew,’ Bella said. ‘That’s a good name. Does he need feeding? Will he be hungry?’

‘He’s all right for a bit.’ Mrs Simmonds took him from her. ‘Let’s put him down for a rest whilst your ma has a sleep; he’s had a rough old journey, haven’t you, my lovely?’ She stroked his cheek. ‘He’s a right bonny bairn. Look at all that hair – he’s going to look just like his da.’

She placed the baby in a crib, one that Sarah had asked William to bring down from a cupboard in the dormitory loft
only
a week ago and Bella had all but forgotten was there.

‘I’m going home now,’ Mrs Simmonds said. ‘I’m fair wore out. I’ll be back later in ’morning. If bairn cries,’ she added to Bella, ‘give him a drop o’ cool water on a spoon till your ma’s ready to give him his first feed. Not too cold, or you’ll give him belly ache. And not too hot either.’

Bella drew in a breath. Oh! She hadn’t thought that she’d be responsible for him; what if he cried and she was asleep?

‘What if I don’t hear him?’ she said.

Mrs Simmonds gave a wry grin. ‘You’ll hear him,’ she said. ‘But keep your bedroom door open.’

Bella bit on her lip. ‘My room’s in ’roof,’ she said. ‘I might not.’

‘Sleep in ’chair, Bella.’ Her mother’s voice came from the depths of the bed. ‘It’s onny for one night. I’m that tired.’

‘All right, Ma. Don’t worry. I’ll see to him.’

‘Yes.’ Her mother’s voice was a mere whisper. ‘Good girl.’

Bella brought a pillow and a blanket from her bed and pulled the basket chair nearer to the crib. Henry was wrapped so tightly she could only see the top of his dark head. I hope he doesn’t suffocate; what if he can’t breathe? With one finger she eased the sheet that swaddled him and made a space near his throat, then ran her finger down his cheek. So soft and smooth. His skin not pink now as it had been, but pale, the colour of the inside of a sea shell, she decided; ivory, that’s what it might be, not that she had ever seen a piece of ivory, only read about it in a book of poetry.

She wrapped the blanket round her shoulders and tucked the pillow behind her back and heaved a sigh. How long would it be before her mother could take charge again? And how would she run the inn with a baby to tend? Of course she had done it before, but Bella’s father was the innkeeper then, her mother doing the cooking and the housework.

Joe, she thought sleepily. He’s been dropping hints that he should give up his apprenticeship and come into the inn full time. But he’s lazy. He won’t get up in a morning. Their father
had
always been an early riser until his unfortunate illness. Everything had been prepared for the opening of the inn at precisely ten o’clock each morning except Sunday when they were closed all day. They closed at three on a weekday until five so that Joseph might have a rest, but were open all day Saturday from ten o’clock until the last customer left, which in this country district was usually half past nine.

Joseph had suggested these hours when he’d first applied for a licence but they were not hard and fast, and since his death Bella and her mother had varied them during the day to suit not only their regular customers but themselves too. In the evenings, their busiest hours, Joe and William served in the bar as soon as they were washed and changed and had finished their meal.

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.’