When the Paleys took their leave, Thora alone remained. She had kept busy the last few hours offering food and drink to Talbot’s guests and refilling platters. Now she continued to bustle about, gathering soiled cutlery and wiping up spills.
Talbot said, “You’ve done more than enough, Thora. Leave it for now and come rest a minute.”
“I am not tired.”
“Well, watching you is making me tired.”
“Very well.” She dried her hands and sat down on the sofa next to his chair.
“How is Jane’s plan coming along?” he asked.
“She is presenting it to Blomfield this afternoon.”
He nodded. “Will you go with her?”
“No, she has it in hand. Though I would like to be at the inn when she returns to learn how it went.”
“Of course.” He glanced toward the clock on the mantelpiece. “Leave whenever you need to.”
“I have some time yet.”
“Good.”
They sat there a few moments, looking everywhere but at each other. The ticking clock seemed suddenly loud in the room.
Thora clasped her hands in her lap. “May I bring you anything to drink or eat?”
“No, thank you.” He glanced through the dining room door to the table. “How is one man to eat all that?”
“Sadie will help when she returns. An excellent appetite, that one.”
“Yes, but it won’t all last that long. Take some food back with you to the inn.”
She nodded. “Or perhaps I . . . could take some to the McFarlands on my way back.”
He looked at her in surprise. “That is thoughtful of you, Thora. An excellent idea.”
Thora shrugged off his praise. “It’s the least I could do. I’ve spent too long blaming all McFarlands for something one of them did. I was wrong, and you were right.”
“Those are words I never thought I’d hear you say.” His eyes twinkled. “I should warn you, though—Eileen McFarland may try to refuse the food as charity.”
“If she does, I shall remind her that it is not kind to disappoint a grieving man.”
Talbot’s eyes dimmed. Thora had been trying to tease him to lighten the mood but had instead reminded him of his loss. She regretted her thoughtless words, and again the room fell into awkward silence.
Talbot looked around, his gaze lingering on the door to Nan’s old room. “How quiet this house is. How empty it feels.”
“Sadie will be back soon,” she reminded him.
“Yes. Though we’ve talked about it, and she may cut back to half days. Cook the main meal for the men and me. Do a bit of cleaning and laundry. I don’t know that I need her full-time now that Nan is gone. Sadie’s getting older and wouldn’t mind having more time with her family.”
Thora nodded. “I see.”
Eyes distant in thought, Talbot inhaled deeply. “I’ve never been on my own, really. I’ve lived with my parents, with other boys at school, with all of you at the inn, and lastly here, with Nan and Sadie. Don’t misunderstand me—I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I’ve simply grown accustomed to having people about. Living alone shall take some getting used to.”
“You don’t have to.”
He looked at her, a little frown line between his eyes. “Don’t have to—what?”
“Live alone.”
He studied her face, and then a tentative grin crooked his mouth. “Thora Bell, that is quite a forward thing to say, if I don’t mistake your meaning.” His grin faded. “Or do I mistake you?”
She looked down, pulling a loose yarn from the blanket folded over the sofa.
When she made no reply, Talbot frowned. “Don’t tell me you are offering to work for me again, or I’ll—”
“That is not what I was . . . offering.”
Flushed at her own words, Thora rose in agitation. She picked up a stray water glass and turned toward the kitchen. “I suppose I will begin packing up some food for the McFarlands . . .”
He rose as well and gripped her wrist, halting her when she would have escaped into the other room. She looked up at him. Way up. How tall he was. How . . . masculine. She swallowed.
He slowly extracted the glass from her hand, bent to set it back down, and then turned to face her. She blinked, not sure what he intended. He lifted his hand and cupped the side of her face. For once, the gesture of affection did not make her stiffen or wish to pull away. Rather it made her want to draw closer.
Talbot looked into her eyes, then leaned down, slowly, until his lips touched hers. For a moment, she just stood there, uncertain how to respond. She had not been kissed like this in so long . . .
He pressed his lips to hers, firmly, warmly. She found she rather liked it, and kissed him back.
Talbot pulled away far enough to look into her face. His voice rough with emotion, he began, “We’ve got a lot of history between us, you and I, and—”
“Shh.” She laid her fingertips over his lips and whispered, “You’ve never been given to speeches, Talbot. Don’t start now.” She raised up on her toes and kissed him again.
Chapter
Forty-Two
Jane set the written plan, neatly bound, on Mr. Blomfield’s desk, proud of herself for completing it one week ahead of schedule. She sat across from him to await his review and verdict, hands anxiously clasped, praying their plans would be enough to convince him—grateful to know others were praying too.
Instead he pushed the folder away, unopened. “No.”
Jane blinked, stunned. “You haven’t even read it yet. And we’ve secured the Royal Mail contract, so . . .”
“It’s a moot point.”
“I have invested a great deal of my settlement into refurbishments and plan to fund more, as you will see.” She tapped the leather-bound plan, adding, “Though I could pay a few hundred toward the loan now, in good faith, if that would help.”
“It will not. Nor will I change my mind. Not with your license about to expire.”
“What?”
“The victualler’s license was in your husband’s name, and without one The Bell cannot operate.”
Jane’s heart plummeted. “I don’t understand—the inn has continued to operate after John’s death, and no one has mentioned it.”
He nodded. “The license transferred to you as his heir, and the parish grants a three-month extension in the case of a license holder’s death. You could apply for a new one in your own name, but women are rarely granted licenses in their own right.” The banker gave her a patronizing smile.
How did he know about the expiring license when she did not? Had the banker known all along? He clearly took satisfaction in delivering this blow. She wanted to rail, “You might have mentioned it earlier,” but dared not anger the man again.
What a shocking disappointment, especially after their victory.
Jane squeezed her hands and held her emotions in check. “I did not realize the license was about to expire. Thank you for informing me. I will take care of that oversight immediately.”
“You may try, though it isn’t as easy as all that. I am sure Thora Bell can fill you in on all the particulars. In fact, I am surprised she has not done so already.”
Me too, Jane thought. She rose and turned stiffly to go, biting the inside of her cheek to keep tears at bay.
He slid the folder to the edge of his desk. “Don’t forget your plan.”
She turned back. “You keep it. Show it to your partners and assure them the license will be in order as soon as may be.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.
Jane walked back to The Bell and trudged into the office. How she hated to be the bearer of such bad news when everyone had worked so hard!
“Well?” Thora asked. She and Patrick sat together, awaiting her return.
Jane gave a terse shake of her head. “He said our license is about to expire, so he didn’t even read it!”
Thora pressed her eyes closed. “Dash it. How quickly the tim
e has gone.”
She looked significantly at Patrick, but he raised both hands in self-defense. “It completely escaped my notice.”
Jane stifled her exasperation. “Well, how do I apply for a new license?”
“You have to appear before the magistrates at the petty sessions,” Patrick said. “And prove you are of good character.”
“Why is my character an issue?”
“Because travelers put themselves and their belongings under your protection. More than one unscrupulous innkeeper has been found to be in league with highwaymen or local thieves.”
Jane groaned. “Mr. Blomfield said women are rarely granted licenses.”
“Married women are never granted licenses,” Thora replied. “Even if they are the ones truly doing the work, as is often the case. Only widows, and occasionally single women, are granted licenses in their own right.”
Jane frowned. “Then why did Mr. Blomfield say I have little chance of succeeding? He knows I am a widow.”
“Arthur Blomfield believes it’s in his best interest if the inn is sold or ownership assumed by a male landlord.” Again she glanced at Patrick. “Either that, or he truly feels your chances of proving yourself competent are slim to none.”
“And you, Thora. Do you agree with him?”
Thora shook her head. “I don’t think a male is naturally superior to a female innkeeper.”
She did not, Jane noticed, say anything about the particular female innkeeper in question.
Thora added, “But I am not a JP. It is Sir Timothy you should be asking that question.”
Jane nodded. “Very well, I shall.”
Jane knocked on the front door of Brockwell Court, as she had so many times in her younger years.
The butler opened the door, and Jane smiled at the old retainer.
“Good day, Carville. I would like to speak to Sir Timothy on a legal matter, if he is at liberty.”
She expected the man to ask her to wait, but instead he gestured her across the hall. “Right this way, madam.”
“Do you . . . not need to announce me?”
“No, madam.” The butler did not expand on his reply.
Jane was surprised but relieved Timothy could see her without delay. She slipped the mantle from her shoulders and handed it to the man, but kept on her smart hat. It gave her added height and confidence.
Carville led the way to Sir Timothy’s study on the ground floor, which she knew also served as his office for carrying out his magisterial duties, incumbent on him as the parish’s leading landowner—like his father, Sir Justin, before him.
Carville opened the door and said, “A caller to see you, sir.”
Timothy reluctantly looked up from his correspondence, an expression of mild irritation immediately transforming to pleasure.
He rose to his feet. “Jane. How good to see you. What a nice surprise.”
Jane glanced at the door as the butler closed it, then said, “I was surprised Carville did not first inquire if you were busy before showing me in.”
“I gave Carville standing orders years ago that you were to be shown in directly without ceremony. Man has a better memory than I credit him for. Of course, that was back when you used to call . . . quite often.”
He held her gaze, and Jane felt her neck grow warm.
She looked away first, taking a seat and feigning interest in the papers on his desk. “I hope I am not interrupting something important?”
He looked down at them as if just recalling their existence and reclaimed his seat. “Oh, no. Nothing critical. Reviewing cases for the next sessions.”
“That is what I wished to speak with you about.”
Confusion or perhaps disappointment creased his brow. “Is it? Why?”
“Our license is expiring.”
“Ah. Of course. I should have guessed.” He formed an unconvincing smile.
“Can you help me navigate the steps, or does that constitute a conflict of interest on your part, or something like that?”
“I will happily tell you what is required and how to go about it. But I wish you had come to me weeks ago. The docket for tomorrow’s petty sessions is already filled.”
“But . . . the license extension expires in two days.”
“Hm. I will send a message to Winspear and see what I can do. In the meantime, have you given any thought to who would vouch for you—your two bondsmen?”
“No. Who spoke for John?”
“George Phillips from the Crown and Harlan Godfrey from the public house.”
“Competing publicans?” Jane asked.
He shrugged. “Collegial business, these regulations. John served as one of their bondsmen as well.”
Jane frowned. “I have never met George Phillips. And I only know Mr. Godfrey by his less-than-sterling reputation. Does it have to be a fellow publican?”
“No. But it helps. A fellow in the same line understands the regulations you are being asked to uphold.”
“Who would you suggest?”
“Would Mr. Godfrey speak for you?”
“Do I want him to?”
“The JPs are accustomed to him speaking up for The Bell. Unfortunately, you don’t have time to foster an acquaintance with Mr. Phillips on such short notice.”
“What about . . . Mr. Drake?” she asked. “He owns a successful hotel in Southampton.”
“Risky. He is a newcomer, unknown to the magistrates. But his status as a hotel proprietor might help. Would he speak for you?”
“I think so. I shall have to ask him. What about someone like Mercy Grove? She isn’t an innkeeper, but she does keep her own school and is a descendant of one of Ivy Hill’s founding families.”
“But she’s a woman.”
“So am I!”
He lifted a consolatory palm. “I know. And bondsmen can be women, but considering your case is already irregular, I would advise against it. Lord Winspear is not the most enlightened of men and does not believe the fair sex have any place in business.”
“What about the vicar? I am certain Mr. Paley would give a good account of my character.”
“I am sure he would. But I expect he knows little about managing a hostelry, or how well you would carry out your specific responsibilities as a licensed innkeeper.”
“Does anyone? I am still so new at it.”
He said patiently, “I realize it may seem like an unnecessary formality, Jane, but it is important. Anyone who serves intoxicating beverages is responsible to see that they are handled wisely. We must also assure that an innkeeper will not allow, say, gambling or—if you will forgive me—prostitution to occur on the premises.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a printed sheet. “Here is a list of the obligations you must agree to, as well as pledging to maintain good behavior at the inn. Landlords who fail to adhere to these requirements could be charged with keeping a disorderly house.”
Jane sighed. “I shall look these over. And perhaps ask Thora’s advice as well.”
“Yes, she has a great deal of experience, but don’t forget that she has never held a license herself. And Jane . . . ” He hesitated. “I would not advise asking your brother-in-law. He got into a few scrapes in his youth, and Lord Winspear has a long memory. His appearance as a bondsman would not help your cause. Besides, as family, he could not be viewed as objective.”
“I understand.”
Sir Timothy explained the Victualler’s Recognizances, the questions she and her bondsmen would be asked, and how they were customarily answered.
“That all sounds fairly straightforward,” Jane observed.
“Don’t become overconfident. I, of course, will be on your side. And Bingley is an easygoing fellow, but Lord Winspear? He is a stickler for regulations and seems to take pleasure in being difficult.”
Jane had been acquainted with the man when she was young but had not seen him in years. “I will bear that in mind.” She rose. “Well. Thank you for your time and assistance.”
&nbs
p; He rose as she did and walked her to the door. “Jane, I have to ask . . . Do you really intend to continue on as innkeeper? Manage The Bell yourself?”
Something in his tone made her look up into his face. “I am as astonished as you are.”
“Are you certain this is what you want?”
“What I want? Not at all. It is certainly not what I expected to become.”
“Then I wish I . . .”
“You wish what?”
He hesitated. “That I could be of more help.”
“You have helped. A great deal. And I count on your continued help at the petty sessions—without compromising your position, of course. I would never ask you to do anything unethical.”
“I know you wouldn’t. But I have no doubts about your good character. I have known you too long and too well for that.”
At the front door, they paused, and Sir Timothy took her gloved hand in his bare one. “Jane Fairmont Bell. A licensed victualler. Who would ever have guessed?”
Jane smiled and shook her head. “Not I.”
Chapter
Forty-Three
The next day, Jane dressed with care for the petty sessions. She chose a walking dress of somber grey half mourning, hoping to look the competent, respectful widow.
“Don’t let Winspear intimidate you, Jane,” Thora advised. “For I have no doubt he shall try.”
Jane nodded, then asked, “Will you be there?”
Thora avoided her eyes. “I . . . have something else to do this afternoon. But you will be fine on your own.”
Jane felt a stab of rejection. Did Thora really have something she had to do, Jane wondered, or did she think attending would be a vote of confidence she wasn’t prepared to give?
Patrick would not be there either. He had, for some unknown reason, gone to Salisbury. So Jane would be the sole member of the Bell family present at the license hearing that day.
The petty sessions rotated between Ivy Hill’s village hall, the Crown in Wishford, and the Pelican in Stapleford. That day’s meeting would convene in the council chambers in the village hall. Lord Winspear, Mr. Bingley, and Sir Timothy Brockwell presiding.