No. She would not. Not if she could help it.
The next morning, Jane crossed the yard to the inn, determined to tell Thora her decision. She wasn’t certain how her mother-in-law would react but knew Patrick would not be pleased. She swallowed her dread and entered the office. Thora was alone inside.
Before she could say a word, Thora launched in, “Jane, have you decided what to do about selling? Or about allowing Patrick to assume the debt? You’ve had your head in the sand long enough. It is time to face reality.”
Emotions washed over Jane—irritation, anger, hurt. She bit back the defensive words that sprang to her lips. Instead, she steeled herself and said, “You are right. As a matter of fact, I have decided to keep the inn myself.”
“Good.”
Jane reared her head back. “I am surprised. I thought you would like the idea of Patrick owning the inn instead of me—or instead of some stranger.”
“Patrick is my son, and of course I want what is best for him. But there are many ways he can earn his livelihood. Other places he can live. Where will you live if we lose The Bell? Which could still happen, you know.”
“Yes, I know. Still, I hope Patrick won’t be too disappointed when I tell him.”
“Tell me what?” Patrick asked, appearing in the doorway with the fare book in hand.
“Jane has decided to try to save the inn herself,” Thora explained.
Patrick’s eyebrows rose. “Has she indeed?”
“Well . . . not by myself,” Jane quickly interjected. “I hope you two will help.”
“I see . . .” Patrick set the book on the desk and crossed his arms. “Well. Good luck.”
Jane studied him warily, but it was difficult to tell whether or not he was sincere.
“Now that you’ve decided,” Thora said, “how will you proceed?”
Jane replied, “I think we should all sit down together and discuss what is best to be done.”
Thora shook her head. “You don’t want me there.”
“Yes, I do, Thora. I value your experience and opinions.” Most of the time, Jane added to herself. “And you too, Patrick.”
Thora said, “Then I think we ought to include Walter Talbot as well. He knows more about managing this inn that anyone.”
Patrick’s brows rose again. “More than you, Mamma?”
“He was far more involved with the transport side of things than I ever was.” Thora added, “And what about Gabriel Locke? For any improvements needed in the stable yard.”
Jane hesitated. “I doubt Mr. Locke knows much about innkeeping, beyond shoeing horses and caring for their ailments.”
“On the contrary, he seems to know a great deal about horses and managing ostlers,” Thora said. “Both key to a successful coaching inn.”
“Very well. If you think he can contribute. And what about Colin?”
Thora pulled a face. “If we must. Though perhaps someone ought to remain at the reception desk, just in case.”
Jane acquiesced. “I suppose you are right.”
She wondered again what Thora had against Colin McFarland but pushed the thought to the back of her mind. Right now, she had a meeting to plan.
Chapter
Sixteen
After Jane left the office, Patrick and Thora remained. Patrick picked up the overdue butcher’s bill and looked over it, and Thora stepped to the window.
A few minutes quietly passed, then Thora asked, “How much do you know about Gabriel Locke?”
Patrick shrugged, eyes remaining on the paper. “Not much. Why?”
Thora turned again to the window, looking across the yard where the farrier stood talking to Jane, a chestnut horse tethered nearby. She had seen them speaking together several times recently, and it raised questions—and suspicions—in her mind.
“Where did he work before coming here?”
“I don’t know. He was here when I came. Was he not working here before you left for Aunt Di’s?”
“Yes. But I thought it was only temporary. I didn’t think he’d stay on so long.”
Patrick glanced up. “Oh? Why?”
Thora thought back. “He was a friend of John’s. They met in London, I believe. I had heard John speak highly of him but did not meet him myself until after John was killed. Mr. Locke was with John when he died.”
Patrick frowned. “Was he indeed . . . ?”
“Yes. They were in Epsom together when the accident happened. He accompanied the coffin back to Ivy Hill personally.” Pain sliced Thora’s heart at the thought. The awful, black memory. The shock and horror and grief of losing her firstborn son.
She swallowed. Her grieving period was over, she sternly reminded herself.
She took a steadying breath and continued, “Talbot is the one who told me Mr. Locke would be staying on as farrier for a time. Cabot had deserted us for a better offer, at the Crown in Wishford, and we’d yet to find a permanent replacement. Jake Fuller filled in when he could, and Talbot tried to manage the stable yard along with the rest of his duties. But it was too much. He called Locke’s arrival a godsend.”
“Old Cabbage went to work at the Crown?” Patrick asked incredulously. As a boy, he had misunderstood Cabot’s name as Cabbage, and had never referred to him by anything else.
Thora nodded. “I recalled John mentioning Locke’s knowledge of horses, so I didn’t question it at the time. With John gone, horses were not uppermost in my mind.”
“Of course not, Mamma. Again, I am sorry I wasn’t here.”
She nodded. “I did try to get word to you when it happened. But my letters were returned.”
“I should have been more diligent in letting you know my changes in direction.”
“Well. You are here now.”
“Yes, I am.”
Thora squinted in memory. “I think I even mentioned something to Talbot before I left. Asking him to find out how long Locke planned to stay and allow plenty of time to find a new horseman. Good farriers are difficult to find.”
Patrick nodded. “You asked too much of Talbot. Always did.”
“Well, I knew Jane would not think to do so.” As Patrick’s words sank in, Thora tilted her head, regarding her son closely. “What do you mean by that? About asking too much of Talbot?”
Patrick lifted a shoulder and pursed his lip. “Just what I said. You asked a great deal of the man. Piling on responsibilities beyond those of any other manager or head porter that I know of. No wonder he left.”
“Are you saying it was my fault he left?”
“Not exactly. But when he got the chance, he took it, didn’t he? And sharp-like.”
“Walter Talbot inherited the family farm after his brother died. That is why he left.”
“If you say so. Never imagined our learned Mr. Talbot a yeoman farmer. Thought he’d lease the land to tenants. Especially with his brother’s wife still living there in the farmhouse. Or perhaps that’s why he moved in. . . .”
“Don’t you start on that, Patrick. Those rumors are unkind and untrue.”
Patrick lifted a hand. “I wouldn’t hold it against him either way. In some cultures, a man is expected to marry and support his brother’s widow, not forbidden to, as is done here.” He gave Thora a cheeky grin and waggled his brows. “I empathize.”
“Don’t,” she commanded. “In the eyes of the law and the church, Jane is your sister.”
“I know, Mamma. I only like to tease you. Anyway, why are you asking about Locke now?”
“I see him talking to Jane quite often lately.”
Patrick nodded. “Very opinionated, our Mr. Locke. Horses never rested long enough or fed well enough for our fastidious farrier. He’s always complaining about something. I don’t give his grumbling much heed, so he must be taking his grievances to Jane now.”
His words trailed away and she felt him study her profile. “What has you worried? An irritable farrier seems the least of our troubles at present.”
He walked over and
stood next to her at the window, following the direction of her gaze. In the stable yard, the farrier groomed an impressive chestnut horse while Jane talked. Thora couldn’t hear the conversation, but Locke nodded at whatever she’d asked—agreeing to come to the meeting perhaps. Jane smiled her thanks, her gaze lingering on the man.
Beside her, Patrick murmured, “Ah . . . I see.”
Thora asked, “How much are we paying this esteemed farrier?”
Patrick pursed his lips. “I don’t know. I’ve only been here two months. Haven’t paid quarterly wages yet.” He returned to the desk. “Let me look.”
He opened the wage log and began paging through it. Finding the page, he ran his finger down a column of numbers . . . and frowned, peering closer.
“What?” Thora asked.
Instead of answering, Patrick turned back several pages to the previous quarter. “That’s odd.”
“What is?” Thora stepped to the desk and bent to see what had caused Patrick’s surprise.
“Locke’s wages are listed as the same as the ostlers,” he said. “Far less than what we used to pay ol’ Cabbage.”
Thora felt her brow furrow. “Let me see that.”
He turned the wage log toward her.
“That is strange. . . .” Thora noted that the most recent paid by column had been initialed by Jane, since Talbot had already left by then. She flipped back a few pages more. “I would say Jane made a mistake, but the same amount appears for the previous quarters—initialed by Talbot.”
“And Talbot is infallible, is he?”
“Evidently not.”
Patrick asked, “But why didn’t Locke complain when he wasn’t paid his due? He complains about everything else.”
“Perhaps he did.”
“There’s no record of Talbot making any adjustment or addition. I could ask Locke about it, but considering our current situation, I am not keen to suggest higher wages to anyone.”
“I see your point,” Thora said. “I think I will ask Talbot myself. I need to invite him to the planning meeting anyway, and want to see how Nan is faring.”
Thora walked out to Talbot’s farm that very afternoon. She saw no one in the yard, and the barn doors were closed, so she let herself in through the low gate and approached the house.
Walter Talbot himself answered her knock, wearing trousers and shirtsleeves, a dishcloth in his hand.
“Hello, Thora. Didn’t expect to see you today.”
“Have I come at a bad time?”
“Not at all. Come in. I was just tidying up.” He held the door for her.
“I thought Sadie did that.”
“She does. But she has her hands full with Nan. Thought I’d do the washing up today.”
“Is Nan worse?”
“I am afraid so.” Talbot led the way into the small dining room off the kitchen.
“Then I will not stay,” Thora said. “You have more important things to attend to.”
“Never mind. You’re here now. Nan’s in good hands, and the dishes will wait.”
They had been waiting, apparently. Through the open door, she could see into the kitchen. The sideboard was stacked with plates, and the stove with a splattered mess of pots and pans. Come to think of it, Talbot was not looking very tidy himself. Not his usual spit-and-polished appearance.
“I’d invite you into the sitting room, but Sadie has taken to sleeping there now, so she can hear Nan in the night. I would offer you tea, but, um . . .” He glanced over at the cluttered stove.
“No, thank you.”
He pulled out a chair for her, wiped the cloth over it, and gestured for her to sit down. She did so, and he sat across from her.
“What is it?” he asked. “Problems with McFarland?”
“Always. But that isn’t why I’ve come. We would like you to join us for a planning meeting at The Bell.” She told him the particulars, then added, “And while I’m here, I also wanted to ask you about Gabriel Locke.”
“What about him? I can’t imagine him causing any trouble.”
“No trouble. Patrick and I just noticed something odd in the wage log. Mr. Locke has been in The Bell’s employ for over a year now. And we noticed that his wages are remarkably low for a farrier.”
Talbot lifted his chin. “Ah. I hardly think a man willing to work for low wages would be cause for complaint.”
“I am not complaining, Talbot. Only curious. Why did you offer him such a modest salary? Were you planning to increase it after he proved himself? Otherwise, why would he work so cheaply?”
“He didn’t want to take any at all.” Talbot leaned back, entwining his hands in his lap. “He was a friend of John’s and felt terrible about what happened. He knew the hole John would leave and how the inn would struggle without him. So he offered to stay on to help. I don’t remember if he knew we were limping along without a full-time farrier or if I told him. But I wasn’t about to turn down his offer. You know how difficult it is to find skilled horsemen since the expansion of the turnpike trust.”
“But . . . surely he must have left a better-paying position. I am surprised he would just up and leave to work here. I do recall him wanting to help out during those early awful days, but I never expected him to stay on this long. Now, even less so, seeing what we’re paying him.”
Talbot nodded. “I don’t think he’d worked as a farrier long. Though very experienced with horses in general, yes. Perhaps that is why he insisted he would accept no more than the ostlers. He probably didn’t know how poorly we pay those fellows. Or that their wages are supplemented by coachmen who often share their tips.”
“I would have given him a wage rise, whether he liked it or not,” Talbot added. “But then Bill died, and well . . .” He lifted a hand in a helpless gesture.
“Jane probably didn’t know that,” Thora guessed. “She simply paid everyone the same rate as the previous quarter.”
“Makes sense. Can’t blame her for that. It slipped my mind, to tell the truth. Figured if he wanted a rise, he’d ask. Think he felt awkward taking any money from his friend’s widow. Working for someone changes the relationship. Can’t help but do so, as I know firsthand.”
Thora tilted her head. “What does that mean?”
“You know very well. And it’s no one’s fault—just the way of things.”
Thora considered that. She and Walt Talbot had been friends in their youth. Was he saying that had stopped being the case after he’d begun working for her family?
She said, “That reminds me. Patrick told me I depended on you too much—asked too much of you. Is that true? I know a door opened for you when Bill died. But . . . did I push you through it?”
He slowly nodded. “Always did boss me around something terrible. . . .” Then he lifted a placating hand. “You were gone by then, Thora. When a door opened, as you say, you weren’t even there to offer a helpful shove.”
“I would not have done so, and you know it.”
He sobered. “I did not mind that you depended on me. I was happy to help you any way I could. But after you left, I . . . Well, I sure don’t miss the round-the-clock coaches to attend to.”
Is that what he’d meant to say? Thora asked, “And now that I’m back? I suppose you’re all the more glad to be out from under my cracking whip.”
“I don’t miss your scolding tongue—that is true. But I do miss—”
The door opened, and round Sadie Jones entered, tray in hand.
Talbot asked her, “Did she eat anything?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. I convinced her to sip a little broth, but that’s all. Oh, excuse me. Good day, Mrs. Bell.” The broad woman bobbed a curtsy.
“Hello, Sadie.” Thora returned her gaze to Talbot. “Would it be all right if I went in and said hello? Or does Nan prefer not to have visitors?”
Talbot rose. “That is very kind, Mrs. Bell. Um . . . Just give me a few minutes to make sure she’s equal to a visit.”
“If she’s not, jus
t tell me flat. Don’t be polite on my account.”
He nodded and left her.
Dreading the visit, and not knowing what she might say to Nan, Thora rose and paced the room. As the minutes ticked past, Thora wondered if Talbot was having to convince his sister-in-law to agree to see her. Thora had just made up her mind to leave, when he returned.
“Come, Thora. Nan will see you now.”
“Are you sure? You were gone quite a while.”
“I am. And more importantly, so is Nan. She wants to see you.”
“Oh? Well, good.”
Feeling ill at ease, Thora walked forward. Talbot opened the sickroom door for her, and she entered. “I’ll leave you two ladies to talk.”
Thora looked over her shoulder at him, discomfited. She’d assumed he would stay, not saddle her with the entire burden of conversation. She had never been good at gentling her words to suit a difficult occasion. But he closed the door softly behind her.
Thora steadied herself and faced the bed. She doubted her face gave anything away—Charlie Frazer often teased her about her stoic expression, whether peevish or pleased. Her heart immediately softened upon seeing Nan Talbot frail and weak. After all, Nan was near her own age and a widow like herself, though she and Bill had never been blessed with children. How changed Nan was. How diminished. Her skin an ashy pallor. Her wan face and limbs so thin. Her hair—once a glorious gold even Thora had acknowledged as beautiful—was dull and wispy around the sharp bones of her once-lovely face. But her eyes were open and alert. And in them, Thora saw vestiges of the old Nan. Kind and teasing and full of life.
“Hello, Nan.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Thora. Walter wanted to tidy up in here. Tidy me up a bit too.” Nan smiled. “He knew I’d want to comb my hair and wash my face before seeing you again after all this time. Now I’m sure I look a picture.” She spread her hands, eyes twinkling.