The Innkeeper's Daughter (30 page)

‘I hope ’new owner is looking after them fruit trees,’ Sarah had said on several occasions as she cooked the apples or plums.

‘We seem to be making more profit with your food, Ma,’ Bella said one day as she went over the accounts, ‘than we’re doing with ’drink.’

‘That’s because we’re still using our own produce,’ her mother said sagely, ‘but we’ve to buy ale and spirits.’

‘There’s a good market,’ Bella said. ‘When you run out of fruit we’ll be able to buy it from there.’

Eventually she broached the subject with Joe. ‘What would you think about turning ’Maritime into a small hotel?’ she asked. ‘We’ve loads of room on ’top floor.’

‘I’d think you were off your chump,’ he said, in no uncertain terms. ‘Don’t you think we’ve enough to do? Anyway, we’re onny just getting on our feet.’

‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘I wasn’t thinking of just yet. But mebbe in a year or two?’

‘No,’ he answered. ‘Don’t think so. I’m not cut out to run an
hotel.
I like being a pub landlord. I wish …’ He paused, and then sighed. ‘I wish in a way that we were back at ’Woodman.’

‘Really?’ She was astonished to hear this; she’d thought that Joe had settled well in Hull. He had a good camaraderie with the customers, always plenty of banter and jokes, and he’d seemed to enjoy setting everything up to make the Maritime welcoming. ‘Why?’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘I miss being out in Holderness,’ he admitted. ‘I miss seeing ’lads I was at school wi’. An’ when ’farm workers came in at harvest time; all of that.’ He gave a whimsical grimace. ‘Nivver thought of it afore, just took it all for granted. But it’s done now, and Ma needs both of us here.’

Bella was astounded by his remarks. Joe of all people, who had been so controversial when they had lived at the Woodman, had seemed to thrive on the responsibility of opening up another business. But maybe it’s just because he’s grown up since we came. We both have, even in such a short time, she considered, and now he realizes just what we’ve left behind; and although she too missed their old home, she felt a sense of achievement being here at the Maritime. Having been denied the chance of studying to be a teacher, which had once been her burning desire and her bitterest disappointment, she had wholeheartedly thrown herself into making a success of a different kind.

Cold January turned into even colder February with heavy snow; March and April were very wet over the whole country, but at the beginning of May the sun came out briefly and dried the roads, and Joe asked Alice if she would like to visit her mother.

Alice was ecstatic with joy and wrote a postcard to tell her mother she was coming and would be there about dinner time on the ninth of May. She’d also said not to prepare any extra food as they would bring some provisions with them. Sarah had told her she would pack up a box of groceries for her mother, and as a sweetener for Alice’s father they would fill up some bottles with their best bitter.

Joe had hired a cart with a tired-looking old mare who nevertheless picked up her feet once they had left the confines of the town and headed for the Holderness road early on the Sunday morning. They passed low-roofed terraced cottages, grocers’ and butchers’ shops in Drypool, two mills, and a small hotel which Joe pointed out with his whip and remarked was one Bella had missed.

‘By, isn’t this grand, Alice? It’s really good to get out of town; not that I’ve owt against Hull. I reckon it’s as nice a town as any, but I didn’t realize how much I’d miss ’country. I’m still a country lad at heart.’

Alice agreed. ‘Not so many temptations in ’country either, are there?’

‘How d’ya mean?’

‘Well, I know I can’t afford it, but if I had any money I think I’d soon spend it in ’shops or theatres, and there’s loads o’ coffee shops; not that I’d go in them on my own.’

Joe turned to look at her. ‘But would you like to? An’ what’s wrong wi’ having a cup o’ coffee at home?’

‘Nowt! I’m onny saying. But I went on an errand for your ma one day and there were some ladies in Market Place wi’ fancy hats on an’ they were going into a coffee shop, so when I came back I looked in ’window and saw them at a table an’ a maid was bringing ’em cakes an’ a pot o’ coffee.’

‘So would you like to do that?’ he repeated. ‘I’ll tek you if you would.’

‘Oh!’ She seemed flabbergasted, whether because he was offering to take her or because the idea of it seemed preposterous he wasn’t quite sure, until she said, ‘Well, those places are not for ’likes o’ me, are they?’

‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘You’re as good as anybody, Alice, don’t think that you’re not. Better’n a lot o’ folks I’d say.’ He turned to look at her again and added, ‘An’ right pretty as well.’

Alice blushed. ‘You’re kiddin’ me, Joe Thorp.’

‘I’m not.’ He put his hand briefly on hers. ‘I think you’re a right bonny lass an’ – an’ if I was better’n – well, if I was—’ He
broke
off as if he didn’t know how to continue and moved his hand back to clasp the reins.

‘Better’n what, Joe?’ she asked. ‘If I’m as good as anybody then you must be as well.’

‘Ah well.’ He flicked the whip above the mare’s head. ‘You don’t know me, Alice. If you did you’d run a mile.’

‘As a matter of fact I do know you, Joe,’ she said softly. ‘And I wouldn’t run anyway.’

He didn’t answer and kept his eyes in front and Alice remained silent and soon they were on the Holderness road with green fields on either side and the occasional farmhouse and country mansion.

They arrived earlier than expected and Joe said, ‘I’d like to tek a gander at ’old place, Alice, before we go to see your ma. You don’t mind, do you?’

She said that she didn’t and so they drove through the village and up the hill to the Woodman. Joe stopped outside the wooden gate, which had always been left open when they were there and was now closed.

‘There’s nobody there,’ he said in a hushed voice. ‘What’s happened? It’s all shut up. Look, ’shutters are closed at ’windows.’

Alice sat and gazed at the sheds and stables, which also had their doors closed. ‘They’ve left,’ she said. ‘They didn’t stop long.’

Joe handed her the reins. ‘Stop her a minute,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have a look round ’back.’

‘But ’gate’s padlocked.’

‘Aye, well, that won’t stop me.’ Joe leapt down from the cart, took a running jump at the gate and vaulted over it.

‘What if somebody comes?’ she called.

‘What if they do?’ he shouted, and ran off round the back of the inn.

The side and back doors were firmly locked and padlocked just as the front was, and the shuttered windows were barred. On the top floor the curtains were closed across the glass. Joe gazed at the deserted paddock where their chickens had
pecked,
and where the donkey and goat had grazed. The grass was long and the hedges overgrown, and he felt an unbearable sadness.

‘I didn’t know how lucky I was, living here,’ he muttered. ‘What I wouldn’t give to come back.’

He walked slowly back and climbed over the gate and on to the cart. He shook his head and took the reins without speaking, backed up the horse and cart and headed away down into the village. Alice didn’t speak. She seemed to know that he was upset, and when they reached her parents’ cottage she said softly, ‘We’ll ask my ma. She’ll know what’s happened and why they left.’

Joe nodded. Ideas were flitting in and out of his mind, some of them ridiculous he knew, but first he must find out why the inn was empty and why no one else had taken over the tenancy of the Woodman.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

JOE WAS EAGER
to find out why the Woodman was deserted, but he had to wait whilst Alice greeted all her family. She hugged all the children in turn and remarked how they had grown since she had left. Joe thought that they might have grown taller, although he hadn’t known them then, but they were certainly very thin in spite of the food parcels Alice had been sending.

Alice’s parents could only tell what they had heard about the Woodman: that the landlord had just upped and left. Alice’s father, Isaac, was stretched in front of a low fire, and although he appeared to have no real interest in his daughter’s visit he told Joe that he had been to the Woodman only once as the landlord had been very aggressive when he’d asked to put his pint of bitter on the slate, ordering him out and telling him not to return.

‘What sort o’ landlord is that?’ he muttered. ‘He’s not even from ’village.’

Joe felt some sympathy for the landlord and thought he might have done the same, as Isaac Walker was one of the surliest and most ignorant men he had ever come across.

‘So, when did he leave? And is there no rumour of anybody else coming?’ he asked nonchalantly, and Alice looked up enquiringly from her task of feeding some of the cake they had brought to the child on her knee.

‘Left just after Christmas, beginning o’ January, summat
like
that.’ Isaac Walker yawned and stretched. ‘Good riddance, I say.’ Then he added in a commanding voice, ‘Mek us a cuppa tea, Ellen, an’ look sharp about it.’

So mebbe he was onny a temporary landlord, Joe supposed. If he’d tekken over the inn as a tenant, then surely he’d have given himself more time to get to know ’customers? He refused a cup of tea but ate some of the bread and beef that Alice had packed specifically for them rather than eat the groceries she’d brought for her mother.

After about an hour, Joe said they should be getting back. He found the small cottage very claustrophobic with so many people in it, and neither did he want to spend any more time with Alice’s hostile father. Her mother was all right, he thought, except she seemed to be of a very anxious and nervous disposition.

When they said their goodbyes Ellen Walker, Seth and the other children gathered in the doorway, but Alice’s father stayed in his chair and merely grunted when Alice said, ‘Cheerio, Da.’

They set off through the village and Joe said, ‘So what’s up wi your da? Lost a bob an’ found a tanner?’

Alice shook her head. ‘He talks wi his fist,’ she said miserably. ‘An’ that’s why Seth doesn’t talk either, not like he used to. It doesn’t tek much to put Da in a temper an’ then you wouldn’t want to be standing next to him.’

‘Hey up,’ Joe suddenly cried out. ‘There’s Johnson. Hey up,’ he called again. ‘You know him, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Didn’t he use to be a plumber?’

Joe waved an arm. ‘He did, and he was one of our regulars at ’Woodman.’ He drew up close to their former customer. ‘How do? What ’you doing for a local now that ’Woodman’s closed?’

‘Oh, that were a bad day an’ no mistake,’ Johnson said glumly. ‘We’ve to walk miles for a pint. Over ’winter I didn’t have a single drink.’

‘So – what’s going on? Is somebody else tekkin’ over ’tenancy?’

‘Not from what I’ve heard,’ Johnson said, sighing. ‘Last feller was no good anyway. Didn’t know how to pull a pint an’ when he did it was like watter.’ He heaved another sigh. ‘I wish you lot’d come back, that’s what everybody says. I suppose you’ve settled in ’town, have you?’

Joe hesitated. ‘It’s not home yet, I can’t say it is.’ He scrabbled in his pocket for a scrap of paper and a pencil. ‘Here’s where we are.’ He wrote ‘Maritime Anne Street’ on it. ‘If you hear owt about Woodman, let us know, will you? I’d like to know what’s happening at ’old place. Been good to see you.’ He cracked the whip and moved off. ‘Cheerio.’

‘Good to see you too, Joe.’ Johnson stood watching as they drove off. ‘I rue ’day when you left.’

They were both uncommunicative on the way back to Hull, Alice thinking about her mother and her siblings, Joe musing over the fate of the Woodman. I’d hate it to become derelict like ’Maritime did. It’s such a grand old place. But it’s too soon for me to be thinking— He glanced at Alice. Anyway, I couldn’t do it on my own. What am I going on about, he chastised himself? What’s up wi’ you? You’ve got a good business going at ’Maritime. He sighed. But I’d like to go back. I have to admit it. I’d like to go back to ’Woodman.

The year drew on. Bella had discussed with Reuben the suggestion that Justin Allen had made about the Maritime. He’d frowned and thought for a minute and then said, ‘Not yet, my dear. You’re doing nicely but it’s too soon to think of any other prospect just yet, although I agree you are well positioned in the town for it to succeed. But you need at least a year to assess the present business before you take time to think about it, put plans together, and work out the costs. Then, and only then, you should consider what kind of contract you would negotiate with the brewers.’

He must have seen Bella’s concern, for he added, ‘It’s of no use letting them reap all the benefit. The premises belong to them, I know, but your family as tenants would be taking the risk. Think seriously about it and so will I,
but
don’t rush into anything just because of a young man’s enthusiasm.’

She saw the sense in that, but she was also cautious because of Joe, who had come back from Holderness very dispirited about seeing the Woodman closed up and didn’t want to discuss any expansion of the Maritime.

Sarah had received an envelope from Nell with a painted picture card of a young woman wearing a low-cut blue satin gown with a white lace shawl draped about her shoulders and a fan held provocatively against her face; the sitter’s hair was red and dressed in ringlets, her eyebrows plucked and lips painted in a red cupid’s bow. At the bottom of the card was the name
Eleanor Nightingale. The popular and accomplished actress and singer
.

‘Why has our Nell sent us this?’ Sarah held the card out and narrowed her eyes. ‘Is it somebody we know?’

Bella laughed. ‘It’s Nell, Ma. She’s using her full name of Eleanor and has changed her surname to Nightingale!’

Joe peered over his mother’s shoulder. ‘Nightingale,’ he scoffed. ‘Does she think she sounds like one?’

‘It’s nivver our Nell,’ Sarah said. ‘Looks nowt like her! Her hair isn’t that colour for a start.’

‘The picture’s been coloured,’ Bella explained. ‘Perhaps she asked for her hair to be made redder.’ Though she privately thought it quite likely that Nell had had her hair dyed. ‘What does it say on ’other side?’