Maddy’s first view of the shop did not inspire her with confidence. It had been easy to plan and make momentous decisions about the new venture whilst sitting beside the fire at home. Now that she was faced with the dingy shop front, matters were very different. Its position was its sole advantage, being situated on New Walk, shaded by chestnut trees and close to the River Dart, just right for catching both town and quayside trade. Apart from that, with its peeling paint and boarded-up windows, the building had precious little to recommend it. Under her breath she cursed Cal Whitcomb for expecting her to produce a flourishing concern from such rundown premises.
I won’t manage it by standing here on the pavement, she decided.
The first thing which greeted her upon opening the door was an overpowering smell of damp and vermin. Lighting an old lantern she found on a shelf and hitching her skirts clear of the filthy floor, Maddy began her exploration. The front shop proved to be of a fair size. Behind it there was a store and another smaller room which housed a disproportionately large and rusty cooking range. Presumably at some time this had been an eating house. Maddy wrinkled her nose at the thought of eating anything produced under these conditions. But somehow she was going to have to get it clean enough to be a place where people could enjoy a drink. Gazing about the dilapidated shop she felt discouraged, and directed a few more uncomplimentary thoughts at Cal for dropping such a task in her lap. Moving her lantern, she caught a glimpse of a sleek grey body slithering under the protection of a pile of boxes. Angrily she flung a piece of wood at the disappearing rodent.
‘The rat-catcher, that’s who I need!’ she declared aloud. ‘Immediately! Him, and the glazier! There’ll be no dealing with this place until they’ve both been.’
Somehow, having made this decision, her determination was restored, making other decisions easier.
Having first found the town rat-catcher and then a reliable glazier, she trudged up and down Totnes’s steep Fore Street more times than she could count in search of her other requirements. With a notebook and pencil in her hand she entered side alleys she had not known existed, and hurried along unfamiliar narrow lanes, haggling and bargaining at every stop in an attempt to get the best prices.
Cal was not totally appreciative of her efforts.
‘Good heavens, woman, do you think I’m made of money?’ he exclaimed as he read her estimates.
‘If it hurts you that much to loosen your purse strings you can always have your customers drinking among the rat droppings!’ she retorted. ‘Don’t worry, they won’t notice in the darkness, not with the windows still boarded up.’
‘I thought you said you’d booked the glazier.’
‘I have, but he isn’t coming until tomorrow. You can cancel his visit. And while you’re about it, you can cancel any thoughts of me running the shop. Your customers mightn’t know any better, but I’ve had a good look at that place and I refuse to work in such conditions.’ Tiredness made her irritable, and she was disappointed at his lack of appreciation of her efforts.
He had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that. You’ve obviously worked very hard. It was just seeing all the expenses in a lump sum like this.’ He ran a weary hand over his face. ‘It’s a mistake to talk business after we’ve both had a hard day. I said that this could wait until the morning.’
Now it was Maddy’s turn to look abashed. ‘I didn’t think it could,’ she said. ‘I need to be back in Totnes first thing tomorrow to let the rat-catcher into the shop. I wouldn’t have had time to come here first.’
He gave a faint smile. ‘That was when you still intended to run my shop, eh?’
‘That was before you decided my estimates were too high. If you think you can do any better yourself, why don’t you try?’
Cal looked back at the paper in front of him. ‘That’s me put in my place well and truly,’ he said dryly.
Maddy sat in silence. Perhaps it was not the most respectful way to address one’s employer, but he had asked for it by being so unreasonable. While she sat there, Cal reached out and rang a bell. When Ellen appeared he said, Tell Joshua to harness up the pony and trap, will you?’
‘You’m idn’t going out again at this hour?’ the maid said disapprovingly.
‘Yes, I am,’ replied Cal. ‘And to save you catching a chill listening at the keyhole, I’ll tell you that I’m taking Miss Shillabeer home.’
‘Miss Shillabeer now, be un?’ Ellen’s disapproval grew.
‘There’s no need to drive me home!’ exclaimed Maddy. ‘It’s no distance.’
‘I think there is a need,’ replied Cal. ‘You’ve had a tiring day and if you’re to be up at Totnes early tomorrow then you must get some rest.’
‘I’m still in charge of the shop, am I?’
‘I don’t know. It depends on you.’
‘No, it depends on you and if you accept my estimate of expenses.’
‘I accept it, most humbly. I should have known better than to query it. From now on you are in complete charge of setting up the shop, and I shall not interfere.’
‘That be settled then,’ observed Ellen, who had been listening to the exchange without shame. ‘You’m still needing the pony and trap. I’ll go and speak to Joshua.’
The next few weeks were the most eventful in Maddy’s life. No two days were alike, as workmen came and went and the shop gradually emerged from its decayed state and began to look presentable. Cal was as good as his word and did not interfere. He made one of his rare visits a couple of days before the shop was due to open. Through the newly-glazed windows Maddy saw him approach, stop and look at the shop front, then frown. She knew the cause of his disapproval – it was the sign writer, skilfully and meticulously putting the finishing touches to the name board above the window.
‘I hope you approve,’ she said, going out to greet him. ‘I did mention it to you.’
‘You mentioned it, certainly. I just didn’t anticipate anything so ornate.’
Together they gazed at the board bearing the legend ‘The Oakwood Farm Cider Shop’ surrounded by a garland of oak leaves.
Having finished the final curlicue, the signwriter came down from his ladder to join them. ‘There, Miss Shillabeer, wadn’t I right to persuade you to have the gold lining?’ he said, regarding his handiwork with satisfaction. ‘Makes all the difference, does gold lining. ’Tis worth the bit extra. Adds a real touch of quality, it do.’
Maddy was careful to avoid Cal’s eyes, especially at the reference to the ‘bit extra’. The name board was her one cause for anxiety. ‘It was my only extravagance,’ she said. ‘And you’ve got to admit it does look good.’
‘Oh yes,’ agreed Cal drily. ‘Adds a real touch of quality, it do.’
She led the way into the shop. Cal looked about and nodded his approval. ‘You’ve done a lot in a short time,’ he said. ‘But without this your hard work would be in vain.’ He laid a paper on the new counter. ‘The licence. Signed and sealed at the magistrates’ court this very morning.’
‘It’s got my name on!’ exclaimed Maddy.
‘That’s right. You’re the licensee.’
To the best of her knowledge, with the exception of the parish register at birth, Maddy had never had her name on an official document before. Seeing ‘Madeleine Elizabeth Shillabeer’ written in authoritative copperplate filled her with an unexpected pride, as if she had suddenly become a person of consequence.
‘How did you know my middle name?’ she asked.
Cal shrugged. ‘I made enquiries,’ he said.
‘You’ve been discussing me with folk?’ she asked in some alarm.
‘No, of course not! Don’t look so disapproving. It was your stepmother who told me. I had to know your full name, otherwise I could not have applied for the licence on your behalf.’
Maddy was somewhat mollified. Pleased as she was at this new development in her life, she did not like the idea of him discussing her with all and sundry. She would have asked Cal more about her responsibilities as a licensee if, at that moment, his foot had not hit against a bucket that stood on the floor. Water splashed over his boot, but it was not that that caused his frown. He regarded first the bucket, along with its accompanying soap and scrubbing brush, and then the sacking apron which Maddy had hastily discarded upon his arrival and thrown on the counter.
‘You’ve been using these?’ he demanded.
‘Of course.’
‘You mean you’ve been scrubbing the floor?’
‘Certainly. Who else would do it?’
‘Heavens above, Maddy, when I asked you to take on the shop I did not intend you to do everything including the skivvying!’
‘It needed doing and it seemed quicker and easier to do it myself,’ she replied.
‘It may have been quicker, but it certainly could not have been easier. You are to get someone in to do the dirty jobs, do you hear? I don’t know why you didn’t think of it before.’ Maddy refused to admit that the reason had been her determination to set up the shop on exactly the budget he had allowed. Her pride refused to let her ask him for more money.
‘Very well,’ she said. In truth, clearing up after the painter was a clean and easy task compared to some of the filthy jobs she had already tackled about the place, but she kept quiet about those.
Cal, however, was eyeing her suspiciously. ‘I fear I’ve been lax,’ he said. ‘I should have kept a closer eye on you. I fancy you may have been slaving away here on my behalf, working far harder than you should have done. It’s to stop, do you hear? You are now the licensee of the Oakwood Farm Cider Shop, a person of importance. It’s beneath your dignity to scrub floors.’ While Maddy was trying to decide whether he was joking or serious he suddenly rapped out, ‘How do you get here each day?’
‘I come by river.’
‘I presumed that much but how?’
‘The tide was right today; I rowed myself.’
‘And I suppose you’re going to row yourself home again.’
‘Of course. It costs good money to be ferried to and fro all the time. I thought I’d take advantage of the handy tides while I could.’
He clutched at his hair in a gesture of exasperation. ‘Was there ever such a woman? Just because you are in my employment doesn’t mean I expect you to be a slave. I know I have a reputation as a skinflint, but surely I’m not as bad as that!’
Maddy regarded him blankly, surprised at the underlying note of distress in his voice. ‘I never said you were a skinflint,’ she said. ‘You gave me a job to do, and I’m trying to do it within the budget you set. Admittedly it isn’t easy at the moment, not with getting everything started, but I’ve worked harder many a time, and for less money.’
He returned her gaze, slowly shaking his head. ‘Whatever my drawbacks as an employer,’ he said, ‘I can certainly pick the right worker for the job. And having picked the right worker, I have no intention of letting her wear herself out. This very day you will find yourself an assistant to help you and do the menial work. From now on Joshua will bring you to work in the pony and trap, and fetch you back in the evening.’
‘I can’t do that!’ Maddy protested. ‘What will people say?’
‘They will say that Farmer Whitcomb isn’t quite the miser he is made out to be.’ He drew his brows together in a mock frown. ‘You are going to argue, I can see it in your face. Well, I won’t stand for it. You will be driven to Totnes each day, like it or not.’
‘I do like it… and thank you,’ replied Maddy. ‘I’ll admit I was not looking forward to the river journey in the winter.’ She was grateful for his consideration, and also rather surprised. That Cal knew of his own harsh reputation was obvious, but she had not realised how much it stung him.
‘That’s settled then.’ Having dealt with the matter, Cal clearly dismissed it from his mind and turned his attention back to the shop. ‘When do you think you will be ready to open?’
‘Monday next. That is if I can have the cider delivery on Friday, or Saturday at the latest.’
‘First thing on Friday it will be. Let me have your order as soon as possible, please.’
Maddy went to a drawer in the counter and took out a piece of paper. ‘Here it is,’ she said confidently, her voice giving no hint of the hours of trepidation and uncertainty that the single sheet had cost her.
‘I had a feeling you would have it ready,’ he said, scanning the list. ‘I’m glad to see that you mean to begin modestly, with no wild extravagances. Is there anything else you’ll need for the opening?’
‘I don’t think so, thank you. Will you be coming?’
‘Of course. Do you think we should do something special? Maybe cut a ribbon across the door frame, or smash a bottle of Superior on the step?’
He was joking, but Maddy’s reply was serious – and somewhat nervous. ‘I’ve already attended to that,’ she said. ‘No, not a ribbon or anything of that sort. I’ve put an advert in this week’s Totnes Times saying there is a free pint of cider each for the first ten customers, and that the one hundredth customer on opening day will receive a free bottle of Superior.’
She waited tensely for his reaction.
‘Giving away a free bottle of Superior! That will definitely attract more custom than smashing one on the doorstep,’ he said with approval. ‘A hundred customers – that’s a goodly number for one day. Do you think you’ll achieve that many?’
‘I hope we do. People will come out of curiosity if naught else.’
‘And having sampled our wares will realise the worth of Oakwood Cider and become lifelong customers, is that the plan?’
‘Something of the sort,’ said Maddy, hoping she was right.
The weather could not have been more advantageous for opening day. From early morning the sun shone down relentlessly out of a sky of unrelieved blue; by the time Maddy flung open the shop door she already had an uncomfortable damp patch between her shoulder blades. The first customers who jostled for the privilege of free cider were dockers from the nearby quayside, hot and thirsty from finishing loading slates onto a boat that had had to be away on the early tide.
‘That went down proper handsome,’ declared one man, downing his free pint in a single swallow. ‘Would’ve tasted just as sweet even if I’d had to pay for un.’
‘Why don’t you buy the next one, then you’ll find out for sure?’ suggested Maddy, to much laughter.
Serving the cider and listening to the men’s comments, Maddy learned her first lesson. The dockers worked according to the tide, not the clock. Therefore, whenever possible, the shop would have to open likewise.
‘We’ve got a fair crowd,’ said Cal with satisfaction. He had been in the shop since half an hour before opening, his censorious eye going over the shelves neatly stacked with bottles of Superior and stone flagons of Regular, and at the standing hogsheads of draught cider, both Regular and Rough. Only when he had given a nod of approval had Maddy unlocked the shop door.
‘We’ve this heat on our side, and there are several boats in being loaded and unloaded,’ said Maddy. ‘Along with novelty, we’ve a few advantages today.’
‘And what about a top quality cider?’
‘There is that, of course,’ Maddy admitted laughing. ‘Let’s hope it’s enough to keep the customers coming.’
‘What else would we need?’ demanded Cal.
‘Luck.’ said Maddy.
The first day was an unqualified success. The bottle of ‘Superior’ was handed over to the hundredth customer by mid-afternoon, forcing Maddy to offer another bottle for the one hundred and fiftieth, then the two hundredth, both of which were claimed before they finally closed.
‘Off you go home, Nan,’ said Maddy, addressing the girl she had employed to help her. ‘You’ve done well today.’
‘’Tis good of you to say so, Miss Shillabeer,’ Nan gave a huge yawn. ‘But idn’t you coming too? If you’m half as weary as me you won’t hardly know how to put one foot in front of the other.’
‘I’ll admit I’m very tired, but I’ve to total up the money before I leave,’ said Maddy. ‘You can go now. Be sure to be here good and early tomorrow.’
‘I will, Miss Shillabeer, don’t worry.’ Nan made for the door, but came to an abrupt halt with a squeak of alarm. ‘Oh lor’, ’tis Mr Whitcomb. I be going out the back way.’ And she fled towards the rear of the shop.
‘Why did Nan dash out like that?’ he asked as he entered.
‘She’s frightened of you.’
‘Is she? Sensible girl. You did well to find her.’ He placed his hat on the counter. ‘I wish more of my employees held me in the same dread.’
‘If you’re referring to me then you’re a little late in your wishing.’ Maddy had scarcely looked up at his entrance, she was engrossed in counting the piles of money in front of her. Then, suddenly the full implications of his presence struck her. ‘You didn’t have to fetch me yourself!’ she exclaimed. ‘Joshua could have brought me to Oakwood to let you know how things have gone.’
‘Let’s just say that I was too impatient to wait.’ He nodded first at the pile of coins and then at the shelves. ‘It would seem that we had a good day.’
Maddy looked at the depleted shelves that would need restocking before they opened in the morning. ‘A very good day,’ she agreed. ‘But the real test will be how much trade we’re doing at the end of three or four months.’
‘Do I detect a touch of pessimism?’
She shook her head. ‘No, just weariness.’
‘Since you’ve finished totalling up, let’s put the money in the strongbox and be on our way. Immediately!’ he stressed when she showed signs of finding further tasks to do.
It was a long slow climb out of the town, but Maddy did not mind their snail’s pace. She was so fatigued that she was content to sit in silence. When her initial weariness had eased, she began to take pleasure in the journey. She had walked this way many a time, and now here she was, Maddy Shillabeer, riding these selfsame lanes up beside Cal Whitcomb.
‘You’re very quiet. Is something wrong?’ asked Cal.
‘No, I was just thinking how life has changed of late, with me working for you and everything.’
‘Yes, things are somewhat different. Your family seems to have accepted the new state of affairs remarkably well. I wish I could say the same for my mother.’
‘She still doesn’t approve of having a Shillabeer about the place? That’s a pity. Much of the credit for changing my father’s attitude must go to my stepmother. She has always thought the feud was stupid and has kept saying so in no uncertain terms. Perhaps you should encourage your mother to marry again – if you could bear the idea of a stepfather, that is.’
Cal let out a shout of laughter that made the pony start. ‘If we wait for that to end our family quarrel then we will be waiting on Judgment Day,’ he chuckled. ‘My mother reckons that marrying my father was once too often.’
‘Then you must marry, and provide her with a houseful of grandchildren to take her mind off things.’
‘It sounds an extreme and chancy way to end the feud.’
‘Why? Are you against matrimony?’
‘Not at all, and I suppose it is time I was wed – if I can find the right woman.’
‘I would not have thought you hard to please. I know you are susceptible to a pretty face.’
‘I am and I don’t deny it, but pretty faces don’t come into it. Marriage for me will be a matter of business. It is how things have always been for us Whitcombs. Advantageous marriages are how we have survived and prospered. But when I do find a suitable wife, she must be certain in her own mind that she wants to wed me. I will have no one who is being forced into it by others.’ .
‘I wish you happiness,’ said Maddy. She was regretting the flippant remark of hers that had introduced the subject, for Cal’s matrimonial prospects sounded bleak.
‘And what of you?’ demanded Cal in a more cheery voice. ‘What marriage plans have you?’
‘None at all,’ she replied firmly. ‘I intend to devote my life to making a success of the Oakwood Farm Cider Shop.’
‘Since that is much to my advantage, I won’t argue with your sentiments,’ said Cal, ‘but I hope you don’t expect me to feel guilty at being the cause of such self-sacrifice.’
‘I don’t,’ Maddy assured him cheerily.
They had reached the top of Duncannon Lane now and, bidding Cal good night, Maddy hurried homewards. As she went she felt curiously depressed. It was sad to think of Cal destined for such a cold and loveless future. He was a good man, and he was worthy of much more. As for herself, all hopes of marriage were so firmly behind her now that she could think of them with hardly a hint of pain. If she set her thoughts towards the future and her new career, she was certain she could snuff out for ever the last shadowy ache that lingered near her heart.
The cider shop flourished through the long, hot summer, and Maddy was kept busy and content. And then as a crisp autumn set in, Mollie presented Lew with a fine healthy son.
‘A seven-month babe be un?’ remarked Joan in an aside to Maddy when they went to admire the new arrival. ‘’Tis a miracle he didn’t go full term, else he’d have been a little giant.’ Then her sceptical expression softened as she gazed at the babe and cooed, ‘But idn’t he a fine boy, bless him? And the image of his daddy.’
‘What are you going to call him?’ asked Maddy, amused at her stepmother’s mixed reactions.
‘John Lewis Shillabeer,’ pronounced Lew proudly. ‘Mercifully both his grandads have John in their names, us won’t have no falling out there, and of course he be Lewis after me.’
‘John Lewis Shillabeer!’ Jack sounded as proud as the new father, but it was more than passing on his Christian name that was pleasing him. ‘Yer, boy, do you realise summat? Us’ve four Shillabeers now – you, me, Charlie and the babe. You get us another un like this one quick and us’ll be back to having a family crew for the salmon fishing in no time.’
‘Really, Jack Shillabeer, if you idn’t the limit,’ declared Joan, amidst the laughter. ‘Would it be too much to let this child be christened and his poor mother churched afore you talks about having any more?’
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ said Lew gravely. ‘I’d be happy to have another soon as you please. There idn’t naught to this child-producing as far as I can see… If he meant to say any more he did not get the chance, for he was immediately belaboured with good-humoured energy by both his stepmother and mother-in-law.
‘Now us’ll have to start looking for a husband for our Maddy,’ puffed Joan, out of breath after the attack.
‘You needn’t bother, thank you,’ said Maddy. ‘I’m happy as I am.’
‘You can’t mean to look after a shop for the rest of your life,’ Joan protested.
‘Why not? There’s more than enough to keep me occupied, believe me.’
Maddy meant it too. All her energy these days was going into running the cider shop. Sadly, however, although the summer trade had been excellent, with the coming of the cooler days, customers became fewer. Despite her efforts, business did not improve. By the time Christmas came and went, the takings were hardly enough to cover Maddy’s wages, let alone Nan’s and the upkeep of the shop.
‘I had such hopes,’ said Cal, shaking his head as he looked at the last month’s accounts. ‘It was a good idea that does not seem to be working out.’
‘It’s early days,’ Maddy said, trying to sound optimistic. ‘If we can just last out until the warmer weather.’
‘That’s a big “if”.’ Cal continued to frown at the figures in front of him. ‘We can’t afford to make a profit in summer simply to exist in winter.’
‘What do you propose doing?’
‘Cutting my losses.’
‘You aren’t thinking of closing the shop, surely?’ asked Maddy in alarm.
‘What other solution is there?’
‘I don’t know, but there must be one.’ She hated to think that she had failed, and after only a few months, too. ‘What have I been doing wrong? If I could discover that, it might make all the difference.’
‘You mustn’t blame yourself. It was a good idea, as I said, but one that has not succeeded. The trouble is that there are too many cider shops in Totnes already. I should have taken that into account before I dashed off and leased the shop.’
‘If there are others managing to make a living, why can’t we?’ Maddy was determined not to give up. ‘We must make the Oakwood shop stand out in some way, that’s what we’ve got to do. We’ve got to have something to draw people in.’
‘It’s no good.’ Cal, too, was determined. ‘I can’t afford to keep running the shop at a loss. Nan will have to be dismissed, I’m afraid. Don’t worry about your own position, I’ll find something for you somewhere.’
‘I don’t want something found for me somewhere, thank you,’ Maddy retorted, her pride stung. ‘You did that before, if you recall. I’ll be employed on my merits or not at all.’
Cal sighed. ‘Now you are annoyed, which doesn’t help matters. I’m sorry if you aren’t pleased, but my mind is made up. The shop closes at the end of the week.’
Maddy was horrified. ‘So soon? Can’t you give me a bit longer? Enough time to think of something? Cider is chilly comfort on its own in this weather. Could we perhaps serve it mulled—?’
‘There’s no point in going on about it,’ declared Cal with increasing firmness. ‘My mind is made up. We close in—’
‘Pasties!’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Pasties! They’re what we need! The perfect accompaniment to cider. Hot, freshly-baked pasties.’
‘We close at the end of the week,’ he persisted, trying not to hear her, but Maddy refused to be ignored.
‘Think about it,’ she begged. ‘Hot, savoury pasties baked on the premises - we’ve that old range in the back room. Imagine what a draw the smell alone would be on a cold day.’
‘I’m a cider-maker, for pity’s sake! What do I know about cooking pasties?’
‘You don’t have to know anything about cooking them. If needs be, I’ll make them, but it would be better to get someone in to be solely responsible for the baking.’
‘I thought it might be going to cost me more money somewhere.’
‘It would be well worth it. And while we are about it, we could make the place a bit more welcoming for folks who want to consume their cider and pasties on the premises. Bare tables and such are all very well on a hot summer’s day, but in the depths of winter folk need a bit more comfort.’
‘Upholstered armchairs, perhaps? Turkish carpets on the floor?’
‘You don’t need to be sarcastic. All I was thinking of was a bit of extra cheer.’ The more Maddy considered the new idea, the more enthusiastic she became. She knew her arguments were sound, but she had to persist with them for a long time before Cal finally relented.
‘Very well, you can have more money for this latest scheme of yours. I will give you three months to make the business profitable, and not one day longer. I simply can’t afford it.’
Three months was not long, but Maddy was filled with enthusiasm and she refused to consider failure. Acquiring a good pasty-maker was unexpectedly easy. A word with Joan produced an aunt – or was it a second cousin? – of one of her stepmother’s numerous daughters-in-law who was a fine cook and in need of employment. The relationship might have been confused, but there was no doubt about Mrs Collins’ lightness of hand where pastry was concerned.
‘And I likes to have a proper filling, with a decent bit of meat in un,’ she insisted, offering Maddy a sample of her wares. ‘I can’t abide a pasty as is all tiddy.’
‘Nor can I,’ agreed Maddy, as well as she could with her mouth full. ‘When can you start?’
‘Soon as I’ve got every speck of rust off that there range and given the back room a really decent scrub out,’ stated Mrs Collins.
Maddy hid her smile. The new cook was clearly a perfectionist, and that was a good thing. Much of the success of the new venture was going to depend on her.
While Mrs Collins, aided by Nan, sanded and scrubbed, Maddy made a few changes to the shop. American cloth in a cheerful red check added a touch of colour to the tables, a humble length of coconut matting took the bareness off the floorboards, and brass lamps instead of the utilitarian hurricane variety gave the place a welcoming air without making it look too feminine. With the stove in the comer burning cheerily, and the appetising smell of freshly-cooked pasties wafting on the air, the Oakwood Cider Shop suddenly became very attractive to passers-by.
The first customers were the crew off one of the foreign ships. They looked tired and cold, and Maddy guessed they had come upriver on the overnight tide. While six of them made a beeline for the stove to warm themselves, the seventh, presumably the captain, came up to the counter. ‘Food!’ he said, holding up seven fingers. ‘Drink!’ And he held up seven fingers again. That seemed to be just about the sum total of his English but he had made himself perfectly clear.
The pasties and the cider disappeared faster than Maddy had thought possible. ‘Good!’ said the captain. ‘More!’
‘Cider,’ said Maddy very clearly, refilling the mugs held out to her. ‘Pasties,’ she said in the same tone, as Nan set more on the table.
‘Cider,’ repeated the captain. ‘Pasties.’ His weather-beaten face broke into a smile. ‘Speak English. Good.’
The foreign sailors, the crew of the Haarlem, proved to be faithful customers during their stay. They were in two or three times a day for the short time their boat was tied up alongside the quay.
‘I reckon they comes ’cos cider and pasties be just about the only English words they knows,’ said Nan.
‘They won’t starve, then,’ smiled Maddy. ‘And they won’t get anything more wholesome.’ She was sorry when they came in for the last time.
‘Go home,’ said the captain, with an expression of exaggerated sadness. Then he stretched his face into a beaming smile and said, ‘Come back. More pasties. More cider.’
Cal happened to enter the shop just as the Haarlem’s crew were leaving. ‘Who were they?’ he asked. ‘They seemed a lively lot.’
‘Just high spirits,’ said Maddy. ‘They’re off one of the Dutch boats, and very good customers they’ve been. They’ve also developed a taste for Devon cider while they were here, they’ve just been buying some to take home.’
‘Maybe I should set up an export business… I’m only joking,’ he added hurriedly.
‘I hope so. There’s enough to do running this one.’ Maddy looked through the steamy window after the departing Dutchmen. ‘It’s a pity they had to go, they were a nice lot, although they barely had a dozen words of English among them. They proved that the taste for pasties and cider is international. If the Dutch enjoyed them, then folks from other countries will.’ .
‘In that case I had better seriously consider exporting,’ said Cal.
On this occasion Maddy was not sure whether he was joking or not.
‘Lots of time to think of that in the future,’ she said firmly. ‘At present we’ve got plenty of good local customers to rely on.’
‘We are getting plenty, are we?’
‘Yes!’ Her reply was definite, yet secretly she was anxious. Their trade had been building up nicely since the introduction of the pasties, but what if their current success was based entirely upon being something new in town or the chance arrival of a foreign boat? She shook off her doubts. The cider shop would never face failure again. She would not let it, supposing she had to drag folk in off the street and pour the cider down them.
Fortunately Maddy did not have to resort to such extreme measures. When the first flush of novelty died down, trade remained good and steady, enough for Mrs Collins to demand – and get – a girl to help her. The customers were mainly local and regular, exactly the sort Maddy had hoped for. Some came to eat and drink in the shop, but many more took their cider and pasties away with them. Every midday, errand boys came in, a selection of small empty firkins slotted on ropes across their shoulders ready to be filled with Regular or Rough, and baskets on their arms to be piled high with pasties, to be taken off to the timber yards, the riverside wharfs, or places of work throughout the town. More foreign vessels followed the Haarlem to the quayside, and their crews soon found the Oakwood Cider Shop simply by following their noses. As many of these vessels returned regularly to the Dart, Maddy found that the shop soon also had a faithful international clientele.
The three months allotted by Cal to prove the shop a success came to an end.
‘Will we have to close now?’ asked Maddy.
Cal regarded the accounts for the previous twelve weeks gravely. ‘I think we’ll give it another month or two, to see how things go,’ he said.
‘What?’ cried Maddy indignantly. Then she saw that he was grinning.
‘You didn’t really think I would close the shop, did you?’ said Cal. ‘Not with these profits?’
‘I was prepared to argue again,’ she said.
‘That’s not necessary, believe me. I’m extremely pleased with what you’ve done; it is entirely your work, make no mistake.’ He was not one to give praise readily and Maddy felt absurdly pleased at his words. Her pleasure was somewhat blunted when he continued, ‘The shop has improved our sales of cider considerably, now we must consider ways of increasing them even more.’
‘More? Are you never satisfied?’ she demanded.
‘No,’ was his blunt reply.
Maddy shook her head in disbelief. ‘What else can be done to sell more cider?’ she asked.
‘Frankly, I don’t know,’ said Cal. ‘I’m relying on you for some good ideas.’
Maddy’s response was an indignant splutter. ‘I fear you’ll have to wait a long time,’ she said.
Any anxieties she might have had about the continuing success of the shop faded as time went by and a stop ‘up to Oakwood’s’ became a regular habit for both land and river folk.
A group of wherrymen had gathered in the shop one afternoon, lounging comfortably at a table in the window. They had finished eating and drinking, and were preparing to leave when one of their number arrived belatedly. Maddy recognised him as a Dartmouth man, one who daily made the trip upriver with goods and passengers.
‘What time do you call this, Bill?’ one of the other wherrymen greeted him cheerily. ‘Us’d given you up good and proper. You’m going to have to get up earlier of a morning, boy, and no mistake.’
‘Don’t talk to me about getting up early,’ complained Bill. ‘Save my life, Maddy, my handsome, and fetch me a pasty and a pint of Rough fast as you can.’
‘You sounds weary,’ said another of the men.
‘Weary? So would you be if you’d near enough missed the tide. Coming up Home Reach there I thought us wadn’t going to make un, with the current pulling back at us. Talk about a struggle.’
‘Tidn’t like you to be behindhand. What happened? A last-minute cargo?’
‘No, there was a bit of bother as us set out. Nasty business. Fellow got drownded just as us was getting under way. Had to lend a hand, of course, us being close by. Twas only Christian.’
‘What happened?’
‘That be hard to say, though I saw un go. Out in a rowing boat, he were. Lord knows why, for he were about as handy in a boat as the widow’s cow. He leaned over the gunwale as if trying to get something, and next thing us knows, over he went, boat and all. Gawd, did he holler! Two or three of us tried to get to un, but there was a stiffish breeze blowing, and going about wadn’t easy. Us was too late. Fished un out, right enough, but he were dead.’
‘Local man, was he?’ asked a wherryman. ‘Anyone us knows?’
‘No, and that be another mystery. He were a musician fellow, by all accounts, as had lived upriver some time back – Galmpton, Stoke Gabriel way. Left in a hurry, the rumour goes. Got up to summat he shouldn’t, I dare say.’ Bill took an appreciative gulp of his cider. ‘Still, the river have got its heart for this year, and early on too. Tis tragic for that young fellow, but it means the rest of us can sail easy for a long spell.’
‘Indeed it do.’ The other men nodded solemnly.
Maddy heard all this. She could not help it. There were no names, no description, but it was Patrick, of course. Who else? Patrick, who had only gone as far away as Dartmouth, and who was now dead.
Nan, standing beside her, had overheard too. ‘You comes from Stoke Gabriel, Miss Shillabeer. It might be someone you knows.’
It might,’ said Maddy numbly.
Nan looked at her curiously. ‘Yer, you’m gone dead white,’ she said. ‘’Tis this talk of drownings and such. It have proper turned you up, I dare say. I can’t abide un, neither. You go and have a sit down in the kitchen. I can manage yer.’ And she gave Maddy a gentle push towards the door.
Mrs Collins took one look at her and thrust a chair in her direction. ‘Make a cup of tea, maid,’ she instructed the girl who helped her. ‘Miss Shillabeer idn’t well.’ Turning to Maddy, she said with concern, ‘Is there aught else I can get you? A drop of sal volatile maybe?’
‘No, thank you.’ Maddy managed a wan smile. ‘The tea will do fine. If I sit quietly for a while I’ll soon be all right.’
Mrs Collins nodded and, taking her at her word, went back to her duties, leaving Maddy in peace.
Patrick was dead. She thought of him as she had last seen him, with laughter glinting in his eyes, a smile making his face even more handsome. It had been a false smile, a perfidious smile, but somehow that did not matter any more. It had been wiped away for ever, never again to charm, to enchant – or to hurt. Patrick was dead, drowned in the treacherous Dart. To Maddy’s stunned mind, it seemed like the quenching of a bright star.
What on earth had he been doing in a boat, he who feared water more than anything? She would probably never know. Not that it mattered. Knowing would never drive away the tortured images in her mind as she pictured his terror as he sank below the cold waves. But she had to try to blot out theand stir herself, for she had duties to perform and the shop to run.
‘You’m sure you’m all right, Miss Shillabeer?’ asked Nan with concern when she re-entered the shop. ‘You’m still looking terrible wisht.’
‘I’m fine,’ declared Maddy. ‘What I need is a bit of work.’
‘If you says so.’ Nan looked doubtful, as well she might, for Maddy was far from convinced herself. If only she could stop her limbs from shaking.
How she would have fared during the rest of the afternoon there was no knowing, but soon afterwards the door opened and in came Cal. ‘I thought you might like to finish early today,’ he said. ‘I’ve got the gig outside.’
‘But we don’t close for hours yet,’ Maddy protested.
‘That doesn’t matter. Nan can cope, she’s very efficient. Where’s your cape?’
He did not listen to her objections, but slipped her cape about her shoulders and propelled her firmly towards the waiting trap.
‘You’ve heard the news,’ he said. ‘I can see it in your face.’
Maddy nodded.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘So am I.’
What an understatement! She had thought herself past having any feelings for Patrick. That was not true. He had hurt her badly, but he had been like a comet that had crossed her path and altered her life for ever. Patrick was dead, but she realised, with much distress, that the embers of her love for him were far from extinguished.
News of Patrick’s death spread round the village in no time. Many people declared it was just payment for the trouble he had caused. The more charitable decided that it was a harsh end for such a young man, no matter what he had done. As for Maddy, she kept her own counsel, avoiding the subject.
Of Victoria there was no sign. Strangely enough, although Mr Fitzherbert had travelled as far as London and beyond in search of his daughter, he seemed unwilling to ride the few miles to Dartmouth for news of her. ‘I knew the rogue would abandon her one way or another!’ he was heard to exclaim. ‘I’ve done everything I can. She’s likely got herself into a mess: let her get herself out of it!’
It was left to one of the river boatmen to inform the village that Patrick had indeed had a female companion – a haughty piece by all accounts – whose description matched Victoria’s, but she had left Dartmouth after his death, owing three weeks’ rent. Her whereabouts were unknown.
What were the pair of them doing in the seaport? That was what puzzled Maddy. And, knowing Patrick’s fear of water, she still wondered what had enticed him on to the river and to his ultimate death.