Jane arrived early, as did Mercy and Mr. Drake. She hoped Mr. Godfrey would join them soon. The Miss Cooks entered, Charlotte suitably reserved for the occasion, while Judith waved vigorously to Jane, wearing a dimpled smile.
Lord Winspear, as senior magistrate, sat in the center chair at the table on the raised dais, flanked by Sir Timothy and Mr. Bingley. As more people filed into the room, occupying its few chairs, standing, or leaning against the back wall, Lord Winspear grumbled, “What are all these people doing here?” He raised his voice and said, “This is a formal meeting, not a theatrical performance. Keep your peace or I shall oust you.”
Jane resisted the urge to bounce her knee or tap her foot as they sat through several other matters of business. She grew more agitated by the minute—Mr. Godfrey had yet to appear.
Finally Lord Winspear consulted his notes and announced, “And now we come to the licenses due for renewal. First on the docket is Mrs. John Bell. A last-minute entry.” Here he glowered at Sir Timothy before looking at Jane. “State your case, please.”
Jane rose and faced the trio of magistrates. “As you may know, my husband, John Bell, was the previous license holder of The Bell, but he died last year. So I am here to apply for a new license in his stead.”
“It is your intention then, to carry on the role of innkeeper?” Lord Winspear asked, his eyes as black as her jet brooch.
“It is, my lord.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Jane echoed in confusion. “Because the license is about to expire, and—”
“No—why do it at all?” he challenged. “Jane Fairmont, an innkeeper? Remember, I was acquainted with your parents. Your good mother would be turning in her grave if she knew what her daughter proposed to do with her life.”
Jane’s chest tightened until she feared it would cave in on her. She stared at the man. He had been a guest in their house when Fairmont had been a gracious home, and she the daughter of gentry. Was he right—would her mother turn in her grave? She could certainly not approve. Jane felt her eyes heat and willed away tears. She could not cry in front of these people. She would not. Remembering Thora’s words, Jane lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet the man’s onyx gaze.
Sir Timothy said, “Lord Winspear, Mrs. Bell’s motivations for carrying on her husband’s business are outside the scope of this hearing.”
“Oh, let her speak for herself, Brockwell. I know you two were childhood friends.” He returned his hard stare to Jane. “Again I repeat, why?”
Jane inhaled, grasped at her composure with both hands, and answered, “It is true, my lord, that being an innkeeper was never among my cherished childhood dreams. But these are the circumstances fate has thrust me into.”
“Fate? Did fate force you to marry an innkeeper?”
Jane swallowed. “No. I made that choice for reasons of my own.” She stole a glance at Sir Timothy, then continued. “But I did not choose that my husband would die at such a young age. And I was as surprised as anyone to learn that he’d left the inn part and parcel to me. But I have decided to honor his decision and do my duty to The Bell staff, suppliers, and patrons.”
“Very noble,” he said dryly.
Again Sir Timothy spoke up. “This being your intention, who is your first bondsman?”
“Mr. James Drake.”
James stood, finely turned out in a dark blue frockcoat and patterned waistcoat, looking confident and at his ease.
“Drake? I do not know any Drake,” Winspear said. “Who are you, sir, to speak in this matter?”
Sir Timothy interjected, “Surely, my lord, you have heard of Mr. Drake’s new hotel being fitted up in the former Fairmont estate?”
“Turning the family home of old friends of mine into a public hostelry? Am I supposed to congratulate him? I don’t know anything about the man, or any reason I should value his testimony.”
“Mr. Drake may be a newcomer here, but he has owned and operated a successful hotel in Southampton for several years.”
“If Mr. Drake is so successful in the thriving city of Southampton, pray why would he be interested in the inconsequential knoll of Ivy Hill?”
It was an interesting question, Jane agreed, though what bearing it had on her license, she couldn’t see. Did he question the man’s business acumen, or his judgment in general?
James remained calm, taking the JP’s sharp words in his stride. “I first saw the name Ivy Hill while reviewing plans for the new turnpike trust,” he began. “It struck me as a place of . . . opportunity.”
Lord Winspear eyed him skeptically. “Something tells me there is more to the story.”
“There may be. Though nothing that bears on the issue at hand. But let us share a bottle of Chambertin some evening and I shall tell you all the stories you like.”
“Yes, I believe you would,” Lord Winspear archly replied. “So, Mr. Successful Hôtelier, you feel you can vouch for Mrs. Bell in her capacity as innkeeper?”
“I do, my lord.”
“On what grounds?”
“Jane Bell may not have a great deal of experience, it is true. But she does have a great deal of intelligence and, in my estimation, natural talent. When she learned of my background, she asked excellent questions, and both absorbed and challenged my advice in an insightful way I found most impressive. She may not know everything—yet. But she is a quick study, and experience will soon teach her the rest. I had not known Mrs. Bell long before I considered her one of the keenest women of my acquaintance. I think she will be a worthy competitor, as the recent contest for the Royal Mail proved. I, for one, look forward to a long and mutually profitable relationship.”
“Are you married, sir?”
James reared his head back. “No, my lord. I have not had that privilege. But if you mean to imply that I flatter Mrs. Bell in hopes of earning her favor, you are mistaken.”
“You do not wish to earn her favor?”
Jane noticed her knee bouncing up and down and wished Sir Timothy might object again, but he did not.
“Of course I would,” James replied. “But that is not why I am here.”
Sir Timothy cleared his throat. “You speak very . . . warmly on Mrs. Bell’s behalf.”
Lord Winspear smirked. “Yes, he does.”
James nodded and pulled forth several folded pages from his pocket. “If I may, my lords. Here are my licenses, regularly renewed as you can see, without blemish or fail. I hope that adds some credence to my testimony if my word here does not speak for itself.”
Lord Winspear waved away the offered papers. “Thank you, Mr. Drake. But not every council upholds regulations to the same exacting standards that we do here. Speaking of which—where is your license for this new establishment you speak of? I don’t recall issuing one.”
“He’s last on today’s docket, my lord,” the clerk interjected. “Which we shall get to by midnight, at this rate.”
“Very well. Let’s get on with it. Your second bondsmen is . . . ?”
“Mr. Godfrey.” Jane looked around the room, stomach sinking. Where was he? He’d agreed to come, though reluctantly.
“Ah. Our old friend—and I use that term loosely—Mr. Godfrey.” Lord Winspear peered over the top of his spectacles at the assembled company. “Did he fail to appear? Imagine that. Well, without a second bondsman, we cannot proceed.”
Mercy Grove rose. “I shall stand as her bondsman, or woman, in this case. I may not be an innkeeper, but I can vouch for Mrs. Bell’s character unequivocally.”
“Thank you, Miss Grove. But please sit down. A bondsman is called a bondsman for a reason.”
Timothy began, “There is no regulation against a female—”
“There is a prejudice, Sir Timothy. A strong prejudice. Besides, Miss Grove may keep a bit of a school, but that does not qualify her to vouch for an innkeeper.”
“Then I shall stand as bondsman,” Mr. Paley said, rising.
Lord Winspear sighed heavily. “Mr. Paley. You a
re a man of God, not a man of business.”
“I disagree, my good fellow. Do I not oversee a church, several charities, parish clerk, and sexton, all while striving to keep a group of—if not patrons—parishioners happy?”
His words reminded Jane of what Mrs. Paley had said at the Ladies Tea and Knitting Society meeting. Perhaps his wife had written the little speech for him.
“An excellent try, Mr. Paley,” Lord Winspear said. “But we shall leave ecclesiastical matters to you if you will leave legal matters to us.”
Bile soured Jane’s mouth. She felt her future falling away, sick at the thought of disappointing so many who depended on her.
“So without a second qualified bondsman, we have no choice but to decline the license, and perhaps that is for the best. A gentlewoman is bred to sew cushions and play the pianoforte. She has no idea how to manage an inn. How to negotiate with brewers and stage lines, and deal with customers, coachmen, drunkards, and worse—”
“My lord, if you’ll forgive me,” a voice from the back of the room interrupted, “it sounds as if you do.”
Lord Winspear scowled. “Who said that? Who interrupts so brazenly?”
Thora walked forward, the crowd parting to make way. “Perhaps you would like a job at The Bell, my lord.” She glanced at Jane. “Do you think we might find him something?”
Lord Winspear slowly shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “Thora Bell. I should have known. Your tongue has always been too sharp for your own good.”
Thora stood before the magistrates, hands casually clasped low over her skirt. “My lord. Good to see you again.”
“And you. Are you here offering to serve as bondsman as well?”
“No, my lord. She did not ask me.”
“Ah . . . because she fears you would not speak highly of her?”
Thora shrugged easily. “I have certainly given her reason to fear that. Would you even allow me to speak for her, considering she is my daughter-in-law? Would you not reject any testimony I might give as biased and untrustworthy, as I have a personal interest in today’s proceedings?”
“I see your point. And were you any other woman—or any other family member—I would definitely rule you out. But I know your plain speaking too well. And I cannot imagine you approve of a gentlewoman managing your family’s inn?”
Thora hedged, “I can certainly vouch for Jane Bell’s character.”
“But it is not only her character that concerns us today, but her ability to manage the conduct of her staff and patrons.”
“If anything, my lord, I imagine a gentlewoman like Jane, with all her fine, ladylike manners, will expect a higher level of conduct from both staff and patrons than any other Bell would ever have done.”
“Are you saying you have no concerns about Jane Bell’s suitability as an innkeeper?”
For a moment Thora and Lord Winspear locked gazes. And Jane held her breath, thinking of all the disapproving looks and words Thora had given her, and their many disagreements. Oh, Thora had her concerns, all right. And her doubts. And probably relished the chance to express them.
Thora considered, then began, “There will never be another innkeeper like my father. He was gentlemanlike and fair, yet firm. Wise and generous. He knew how to encourage everyone from the lowliest potboy to the most cantankerous cook to do their best and be proud of a job well done. He served the poorest, frightened servant-girl on her way to a new post, to the most exacting highborn dowager, with humility and warmth. In many ways, Jane reminds me of him. She is wise enough to know when to ask for help and when to make an unpopular decision on her own. She is kindhearted and willing to make sacrifices, and not too proud to get her hands dirty to help her staff and serve her patrons. All marks of a good leader. I believe Jane Bell will be an excellent innkeeper. And I pledge to do all I can to help her succeed.”
For a moment, silence hung in the chambers.
Jane stared, disbelieving, at her irritable, disapproving mother-in-law, as if she didn’t recognize her. As if she were seeing her for the first time.
Even Lord Winspear seemed momentarily transfixed. Then his glittering gaze returned. “A very pretty speech, madam. Do you mean it?”
“Of course. You know I never praise anyone if I can help it.”
“I do, indeed.”
Lord Winspear studied her for a moment longer and then threw up his hands. “Well. I see you are all in league against me. And so I will object no further. I hope, rather than believe, Jane Bell will be the successful landlady you all seem to think her.”
Jane exhaled, and her heart lightened in relief. “Come, my lord,” she cajoled. “Why must it be us against you? How well I remember when you used to come to Fairmont House at Christmas to share a toast and roasted chestnuts. And sing ‘God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen’ in your fine bass voice. I shall never forget it.”
He cleared his throat. “This is not the place for such remembrances.”
“Then come to the inn sometime, and we’ll rehearse those dear memories of Christmases past, and of my father and my mother.”
“Your mother was an excellent woman. You are very like her.”
“Am I? There is no greater compliment you could give me.” Jane doubted she was much like her mamma any longer, but was pleased the man thought as highly of her mother as she did.
“Yes, well.” Again Lord Winspear cleared his throat and put on a severe look. “Enough now. We have not finished yet. There are regulations to uphold. Are you ready to make your pledge, Mrs. Bell?”
Jane bit back a smile. “I am, my lord.”
He led her through the formal, legal pledge of recognizance and ended with a stern warning. “Remember, Jane Fairmont Bell, that if you fail to adhere to these regulations, I will not hesitate to summon you before us again on charges of keeping a disorderly house.” He shot Timothy a dark look. “Family connections or no.”
Jane nodded earnestly. “I will remember, my lord. And thank you.”
When the sessions ended, the crowd began dispersing, many lingering to congratulate Jane. She thanked James and Mr. Paley for speaking up for her, but thought it wisest to keep her distance from Sir Timothy while in the council chambers.
Others came forward, including Mrs. Klein and Miss Morris from the Ladies Tea and Knitting Society, though Jane saw no one else from The Bell. She was polite in her thanks but craned her neck to see over the heads of the others, looking for Thora. She spotted her across the room, cornered by the Miss Cooks.
Mercy came over and embraced her, and then excused herself, saying she would talk to her later, but had to hurry back to Ivy Cottage to see how Rachel was getting on with the girls. Jane said good-bye, and when she looked again, Thora was gone.
Jane made her way through the crowd, accepting well-wishes as she went. Finally, she exited the village hall, and with a little unladylike burst of speed, caught up with Thora halfway down Potters Lane, striding back alone.
She wanted to ask if Thora had really meant what she’d said about her but held her tongue. She reminded herself that she, too, was quite familiar with Thora’s plain speaking. To save the inn, her mother-in-law might have spoken more confidently than she felt, and if so, Jane would not blame her.
“Thank you, Thora,” she said instead.
Thora nodded without pause, and Jane fell into step beside her. On impulse, Jane linked her arm through Thora’s and held her breath, waiting to be rebuffed. Instead, Thora briefly pressed a hand to Jane’s.
She said, “I used to shake my head and wonder what in the world John was thinking to leave The Bell to you. But now I see the truth of the matter. John knew you better than anyone—perhaps even better than you know yourself. And he somehow knew you were the very person to oversee The Bell after he was gone. To save it.”
Jane felt tears prick her eyes at her mother-in-law’s unexpected and astounding praise. They were not in a license hearing now.
“Thank you, Thora,” she repeated over the l
ump in her throat. “I hope you are right.”
Thora slanted her a look. “I usually am,” she said. “Don’t prove me wrong this time.”
Jane stopped on the corner, instead of crossing the street to the inn. “You go ahead, Thora. I’m going straight to the bank with my license.”
Thora hesitated. “Very well. But don’t be long.”
Jane nodded. She turned up the High Street and strode smartly to the stone-and-brick building at the end. Reaching the door of Blomfield, Waters, and Welch, she let herself in.
The young clerk rose. “I am sorry, Mrs. Bell, but Mr. Blomfield is not—”
Jane did not pause to listen to excuses. “Never mind, I will show myself in.”
“But—”
Jane pushed open the door to Mr. Blomfield’s office and drew up short at the sight of the man behind the desk.
Not Mr. Blomfield. A man she didn’t recognize. And in the guest chair? Patrick Bell.
“Ah. Jane,” Patrick drawled. “We were just talking about you.”
“Oh? I thought you were in Salisbury.”
“I was.” He gestured toward the man behind the desk. “You two have not met, I don’t think. Jane Bell, allow me to introduce Mr. Welch, of the former Blomfield, Waters, and Welch.”
“The former? I don’t understand.”
Mr. Welch rose. “Mrs. Bell. I wish we were meeting under happier circumstances. Please, do be seated.”
“But . . . I gave Mr. Blomfield our plan and am here about an extension for a loan. I have just come from the petty sessions and have my new license to show him. Where is he?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Mr. Welch said. “Far from here by now, I should guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“He has absconded.”
Jane gaped. “What? Why?”
Patrick handed her a sheaf of papers. “Here is John’s copy of the loan papers. Take a look.”
Jane looked from him to the papers, brows high. “Where did you find them?”
“In John’s desk drawer. I’m ashamed to say I, em, borrowed them.” He pointed to the top page. “Notice anything . . . odd there?”