She turned to him and held it out. ‘They gave me this. It must be meant for you.’ In her hand were two silver half-crown pieces.
He closed her fingers round them. ‘That’s your tip. They enjoyed the food so they gave you a bit extra to say thank you. Five shillings. That’s what the gentry do.’
She stared at him in amazement, then opened her hand and smiled at the coins. ‘I’ve never earned money so easily in my whole life.’
‘Let’s hope you earn a lot more the same way then, lass. Now, you look tired, so I think you should have a sit-down. I’ll go up and see how Phoebe is and—’
‘I nipped up not long ago. She’s sleeping. She hasn’t eaten anything but she’s drunk three cups of tea.’
‘Then you should definitely take a rest. You’re not fully recovered yourself yet.’
Meg sank on to a chair. ‘I am a bit tired, I must admit. I’m not usually so lazy, I promise you.’
‘It’s not lazy. You’ve been –’ he searched for a tactful word to describe the state in which he’d found her and the reason for it, but only came up with ‘—unwell.’
‘Out of my mind with grief,’ Meg corrected him flatly. She didn’t pretend, not even to herself, but stared blindly across the room, thinking of Nelly again, not noticing what he was doing until he set a cup of hot tea down in front of her.
‘Here you are. Drink that.’ He squeezed her shoulder, a gesture of comfort that made her look up at him with a half-smile. Eh, he wished he could offer her real comfort but only time would do that.
As she lifted the cup to her lips Toby went to peep into the public room, saw that everything was quiet then got himself some tea as well.
‘I thought you’d drink beer, since you work in an inn?’
‘I’d be drunk as a lord if I kept drinking my own beer. No, I may have a pot or two in the evening but I’m no toper. I prefer a good cup of tea most of the time or water from a moorland stream, pure and sparkling.’
‘My husband used to booze,’ she volunteered suddenly. ‘He gave it up, then he started again. I think that’s why he fell off the cart and was killed. He’d been drinking. I hate drunkards.’ She didn’t know why she was telling him this, but there was something about Toby Fletcher that made you trust him.
‘I don’t allow anyone to get blind drunk in my inn,’ he said gently, ‘but there are a few heavy drinkers. As long as they don’t fight or vomit over my clean floor, I can hardly stop them drinking because that’s how I earn my living.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Does the thought of helping men to drink upset you?’
She nodded.
‘I hope it won’t stop you from working for me. You’re a good cook and Phoebe’s getting older. She really does need some help about the place.’
Meg had said it before she realised. ‘No, it won’t stop me from working for you.’
He beamed at her. ‘That’s good. Phoebe was saying last time I went up that you’re a godsend.’
‘Is that what I am?’ She found herself smiling again, just a little smile but it felt strange as if her face wasn’t used to doing it.
Someone called for a beer from the public room and Toby went to get it.
She sat there for a while because she was exhausted. What was there about her new employer that made her tell him things, that made her
want
to work for him? she wondered.
When she’d rested for a while she went up to see Phoebe, feeling guilty for neglecting her. She found the older woman feverish, her words muddled. She didn’t even seem aware of what was happening around her.
Worried, Meg hurried to fetch Toby and together they studied the sick woman.
‘I’ll sit with her tonight,’ he decided.
‘She’ll not want you tending her personal needs,’ Meg said. ‘I’ll stay with her. I can snatch some sleep on the rug but I’ll hear if she wakes, don’t worry. I’m a very light sleeper.’
He looked at her. ‘And definitely a godsend.’
She felt warm inside with so much praise today, hadn’t felt like this for a long time. Well, praise wasn’t something that had come her way very often.
Phoebe slept only fitfully, so Meg was up and down, giving her drinks, ministering to her needs, so tired she could have wept. But the old woman in the bed had been kind to her so whatever she could do, she would.
There was the sound of the bedroom door opening and she spun round, relieved to see it was only Toby. She didn’t know why she should feel anxious about that. Who else could it be out here in this little village?
‘How is she?’ he asked.
‘Very restless.’
‘Have you had any sleep at all?’
‘No.’
He brought his candle nearer to study her face. ‘You need to get some sleep now or you’ll be ill yourself. Go to bed and get a few hours. I’ll wake you if I need you. Phoebe will be all right with me, I promise. I nursed my own mother when she was ill.’
She couldn’t hold back a yawn. ‘I’m sorry not to be of more use.’
‘You’ve been a great deal of use, lass. Now, go and get some sleep.’
So Meg stumbled off to her bedroom, spilling hot wax from her candle on to the back of her hand when she yawned again. The sting of that woke her enough to get across to the bed, but she didn’t remember getting into it.
In the morning she didn’t wake up until someone shook her.
‘It’s morning, lass, and I’m afraid I need your help now.’
She blinked up to see Toby leaning over her. ‘How’s Phoebe?’
‘A little better, I think.’
‘I’m glad. What time is it?’
‘Nearly nine o’clock.’
She sat upright in shock, then squeaked and pulled the covers back over herself because she was only wearing a shift, and a ragged one at that. ‘Why didn’t you wake me before?’
‘You needed your sleep. Anyway, Alice has come to help out. I didn’t even need to send for her today. She told her mother Phoebe was ill and they sent her over again. Folk are like that in Calico.’
He moved back towards the door. ‘I’ll leave you to get dressed. There’s some food waiting. Alice’s mother sent over a fresh-baked loaf.’
Suddenly Meg was hungry, ravenously hungry for the first time in ages. She found herself humming as she had a quick wash. It was a while before she realised what the noise was, though, because she hadn’t sung or hummed for a long time.
15
C
ully Dean woke the next morning, rolled out of bed and yelled at his wife because she hadn’t got the fire going properly yet. Then he went outside to relieve himself and scowl at the weather. Raining again. It never stopped bloody raining up here. He shambled inside, found where his wife had hidden the last crust of bread and ate it as he sat wondering what to do that day.
Fletcher. He could go and have a look round the outside of the Packhorse. He still couldn’t think how to get rid of the innkeeper but he’d have to find some way to do it because he didn’t dare upset Beardsworth and his henchman.
‘Can’t you shut that brat up?’ he yelled at his wife.
‘No, I can’t. She’s hungry and there’s nothing to eat. If you don’t give me some money, there’ll be nothing for you to eat later, either. You just ate the last of the bread.’
‘Tell me what you want. I have to go down the hill so I’ll bring something back.’
She immediately began listing things. Bloody women! Always spending your hard-earned money. Still, he didn’t intend to go hungry, and if he left the brats without food they’d skrike half the night and drive him mad.
He went out of the house and fed the donkey. It was better company than women, didn’t drive you mad always wanting things. He fiddled around in the shed for a while, still wondering how to get rid of Fletcher, then harnessed the animal and set off down the hill. After some consideration he bought a loaf and some cheese, remembered that
she
wanted potatoes and, since he liked them himself, went to Ross Bellvers to buy a whole sack. That’d keep her quiet for a long time. They couldn’t usually afford that many.
‘Come into some money?’ Ross asked idly.
‘No, I bloody haven’t. This is to shut
her
up.’
Ross watched him go, still wondering where Cully Dean had found all this money recently. The man didn’t usually feed his family; Ross had lost count of the times neighbours had slipped a slice of bread to one of the four hungry Dean children. He’d done it himself a time or two as well. The youngest was so thin and hungry-looking it nearly broke his heart to see her watching people eat with those big eyes full of longing.
While Cully was out, his wife sent little Sairey to the Packhorse because she knew Phoebe was a kind soul and often slipped the children something to eat. Sairey was particularly good at winning them food.
Meg opened the door and nearly died of shock because she thought for a minute Nelly was standing there. Only it wasn’t Nelly, she realised, patting her own chest and blowing out a few breaths of sheer relief. ‘Oh! Oh, you gave me such a shock. Do you want something, love?’
Sairey looked up at the stranger and said the magic word. ‘Hungry.’
Meg stared down at her. The child was older than her Nelly, she could see that now, but so undersized that she wasn’t much bigger than Nelly had been. Meg couldn’t, just couldn’t send her away hungry, but she didn’t have any food of her own. ‘Come in. I’ll see what I can find.’
The child clearly knew her way inside the house place and went to stand by the bread bin.
‘Wait there.’
Meg went into the public room and saw Toby in conversation with a man. She waited for him to finish, getting a little impatient because he went on and on. In the end the man nudged Toby and pointed in her direction.
With a smile, her employer came across. ‘Is something wrong, love?’
‘Can I have a quiet word?’ She led the way behind the small counter and said in a low voice, ‘A child came to the side door. She seems to know her way in. She’s hungry.’ She fumbled in her pocket. ‘If I pay for it, can I give her some of our bread?’
He looked down at her, wondering what had made her so agitated. ‘Who is she?’
‘I don’t know.’
He went across to the opening, lifted the curtain and looked inside, then turned and beckoned to Meg to follow him.
‘Hello, Sairey lass,’ he said. ‘When did you last eat?’
‘Yest’day, Mr Fletcher. Piece o’ bread.’
‘And now you’re hungry again?’
She nodded.
‘Hasn’t your Mam got any food?’
She shook her head. ‘Dad ate it.’
‘Let’s find you something then.’ He went and cut off a slice of crust, slathering on some butter. When she held out her hand for it, he kept hold. ‘You’re to eat it here.’
‘Da says I’ve to take owt you give me home.’
‘Not this time.’ He’d heard Cully boasting a few days previously about how they could get food out of him for nothing. ‘You eat it here or I’ll eat it for you.’
Tears filled Sairey’s eyes. ‘He’ll hit me when he finds out.’
‘I know and I’m sorry, but I’m still not letting you take it home. Will you eat it now?’
She nodded, eyes still fixed on the crusty bread and the gleaming golden butter.
Toby pulled out a stool and sat her on it, then set the bread in front of her. Sairey fell on it like an animal, cramming it into her mouth and hardly waiting to chew before swallowing the mouthful. Almost inevitably she choked but as soon as she could breathe properly again, she went back to gobbling down the bread. When she’d finished he gave her a glass of milk, watched her drink it, then said, ‘If your mother or sisters come here, I’ll give them some bread, but they’ll have to eat it here too. Do you understand that?’
She nodded.
‘Get off home now, Sairey.’
When the child had gone he turned to Meg, who’d been watching what he did and who still looked as if something had shocked her to the core. Surely she’d seen hungry children before? She was so white he took a step towards her, then ran across because she was swaying. He caught her as she would have crumpled and held her in his arms as she began to sob quietly against him, then to let out thin wailing sounds like a soul in torment. He looked towards the public room not wanting them to hear this, for her sake, then picked her up and carried her out.
They passed Alice coming down the stairs and he said curtly, ‘Keep an eye on the public room for me, will you, love? Something’s upset Meg.’
It seemed the natural thing to do to carry her right through to the old part of the house. He’d found comfort there a few times himself, though he’d never worked out why.
When he carried her in, he made his way to the bench he’d put at the other end, which was the part of the room he liked most anyway, near the empty fireplace. Sitting down on it he cradled Meg like a child, rocking her slightly and murmuring, ‘Cry it out, lass. Cry it out.’
And she did.
He’d never seen anyone cry so hard or heard such naked anguish. It made tears well in his own eyes. All he could think of was to hold her close, rock her from time to time and make comforting sounds, though he doubted she heard them.
As she went on weeping he sensed the presence that sometimes seemed to linger in this ancient place, could swear he heard faint, far-off chanting and simply let the peaceful sensations flow over him. The very air seemed to quieten around them and gradually Meg stopped weeping so hard. Her breath was still catching on sobs and she hadn’t opened her eyes, but she’d ceased the bitter keening that tore him apart.
Even as he looked down at her, her eyes opened and she blinked up at him, her lashes wet with tears, her cheeks streaked with drying trails of moisture.
‘What is that sound?’ she whispered.
‘I don’t know. Monks used to live here once and all I can think is that they left some of their peace behind them and – well, echoes of their singing.’
His words came out softly because he didn’t want to break the spell, because that feeling was still enclosing them. Perhaps the stones were filled with it and gave it off in times of need.