The Innkeeper of Ivy Hill by Julie Klassen
Charlie nodded. “Quite possible, as I know from experience. I was once challenged by a box passenger to do so. He timed me with his gold watch. I effected the change in two minutes and a half, with only one horsekeeper, assisted by the guard. Though I have heard accounts, as Mr. Locke has, of even shorter times.”
Tuffy grimaced, his old face wrinkling with skepticism. “Hardly seems credible to me. Four horses taken from a coach, and four others put into their places, in a blinkin’ one hundred and twenty seconds?”
“Yet so it is at many inns nowadays,” Gabriel said, joining the conversation.
The old ostler shook his head. “When I first started, a quarter of an hour, or at least ten minutes, was the usual time. And if we done it faster, well then, that was cause enough to celebrate with a pint.”
He looked hopefully at Thora, but her mouth tightened. “No pints, Tuffy.”
His thin shoulders slumped.
“Not during training at least,” Jane said to soften the blow. “Though I’m sure we can provide some refreshments along the way.”
Charlie spoke up. “I remember those days as well, Tuffy. But now—unless some business is to be transacted such as taking fares, setting down, getting out parcels, or the like—I would say the average is about three minutes for each change.”
“Three minutes?” Tuffy shook his head once more. “What’s the world coming to? Next you’ll ask us to fly.”
Jane could only wish.
For the actual contest the following Saturday, their team would be made up of two ostlers (Tuffy and Tall Ted), Charlie, as coachman, and his guard, Jack Gander. Mr. Hightower insisted the Royal Mail coaches must be driven by experienced coachmen and carry official post-office guards at all times. Bertha Rooke, Jane, Colin, and Bobbin would have roles in the contest as well.
When Colin came jogging into the yard at last, Jane began, “As you know, we have been granted an opportunity to prove our superiority to Mr. Drake’s new hotel. Granted, changing a team in the middle of the High Street is not the same as what you do day in and out here, but hopefully the contest is a close enough approximation to showcase our services.”
Tuffy scratched his head. “Best speak plainer, missus, if you want us simple folks to understand.”
“Sorry.” Jane turned to Gabriel in relief. “I have asked Mr. Locke to explain the horsemen’s role in the contest.”
He nodded and took over. “The Quicksilver and the Exeter will start at our end of the High Street. Each will have a coachman, guard, and four stand-in ‘passengers’ on board. At Mr. Hightower’s signal, the two coaches will advance across a chalk line, and that’s when you’ll spring into action—change out the four horses for a fresh four, inspect the harnesses and traces, water and groom the horses.”
“Meanwhile,” Jane added, “two male passengers will dismount from the top of the coach and help the ladies alight from inside. I will transfer the incoming mailbag and parcels from the guard to our local postmaster, and carry outgoing mail back. Colin will remove two forty-pound valises from the boot and carry them to Hightower. Mrs. Rooke will hand a small pie to each passenger, and Bobbin will deliver a tankard to Charlie.”
“Oh, sure. He gets a pint,” Tuffy grumbled.
“Finally, men,” Gabriel concluded, “when you’ve completed the change, stand clear, because Charlie will snap his whip over the leaders and bound for the finish line. The first coach to cross wins.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Tall Ted said, all eagerness. “We’ll show those Wishford boys how it’s done.”
“Let’s not grow overconfident,” Jane cautioned. “Those ‘Wishford boys’ are being trained as well.”
Gabriel turned to Ted and Tuffy. “To begin with, let’s go through a change as we do things now, and I will time you.” He pulled out his pocket watch, and for the first time Jane noticed how fine it was—a newer design with a smaller seconds dial inset in the face.
The Brockwell town coach was brought forward and the horses readied. At Gabriel’s signal, the ostlers lurched into action. In their hurry and self-consciousness before an audience, they tripped over one another, got tangled in the harnesses, and had to couple and recouple the leaders twice.
They finally completed the changeover and turned to Gabriel for his verdict, Tuffy all smiles and Tall Ted’s head dipped in embarrassment.
Gabriel winced at his watch. “Nine minutes, thirty seconds.”
Tuffy raised a triumphant fist. “That calls for a pint!”
Gabriel shook his head and laid a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Well, at least we know where we stand. And how much work we have cut out for us.”
He turned to Charlie Frazer. “Any advice?”
Charlie nodded and stepped forward. “Every coachman has his own particular method, and I’ll be happy to describe mine. Though mind you, I am not usually out to win contests. To negotiate the changeover quickly, everyone must know his own place, and not be tumbling over one another.”
Here, Ted ducked his head again, and Charlie delivered a good-natured cuff to the young man’s back.
He continued, “I believe a wise coachman takes his part by instructing the passenger beside him to unbuckle the lead and wheel reins as the coach comes to a stop. The first ostler unhooks the near leader’s outside trace and changes the near horse, while the second ostler unhooks the remaining lead traces, uncouples the wheel horses, and changes the offside one. The coachman climbs down as fast as he can and finishes changing the leaders.”
Charlie ended with a showy flourish of his hand, and Jane half-expected him to take a bow.
Tuffy stared at him, mouth open.
Tall Ted’s face puckered. “Is that what we were meant to do every time you arrive?” He looked at his partner in disbelief.
Tuffy said, “I did wonder what you were a doin’ half the time.”
“Well, I work with several coaching inns along the route and each has its own ways, I realize,” Charlie said graciously. “The method I describe is ideal, I believe, though not often achieved.”
Gabriel nodded. “The Marquis in Epsom uses a similar method. It’s challenging, but I know you men can do it. I have every confidence in you. We have one week. So let’s get to work.”
All the following week, the horsemen practiced their drill every spare moment they could, in between their other duties. Under Gabriel’s direction, they worked hard to hone their routine on each stage that passed through, and used the Brockwells’ coach during lulls. They made the most of the Royal Mail coaches that stopped there, and Charlie and Jack Gander joined them when their schedules allowed.
The day before the contest, Jane paced across the yard, notebook and stubby drawing pencil in hand, waiting for the ostlers to start again. Thora sat on a bench nearby with a pile of mending, now and again looking over the top of her spectacles to observe their progress.
When the horses were properly placed, Gabriel looked down at his pocket watch, squinting at the small seconds dial. “And . . . go.”
Ted ran forward to unhook the near leader and changed the near horse, while Tuffy uncoupled the wheel horses and changed the offside one. Joe, playing the role of coachman in Charlie’s absence, leapt down and finished changing the leaders.
Gabriel consulted the watch and failed to hide his grimace. “Four minutes and forty seconds.”
Jane wrote it down on her pad, then called, “Again!”
Gabriel ran a weary hand over his face. “A rest first, I think.”
“We’ve got to keep practicing,” Jane said. “Everything depends on it.”
The men groaned.
At that moment, Sir Timothy rode into the stable yard, handsome in a cutaway riding coat and black boots with contrasting tan cuffs. He cut a dashing figure atop his tall black horse. He greeted the others politely, then looked at her. “Hello, Jane. I’ve come to take you riding.”
“I cannot. The contest is tomorrow.”
“I know it is. That is why I am
Jane was tempted, but there was so much to do. “Thank you, but I—”
“Oh, go on, Jane,” Thora said. “Sir Timothy is perfectly right. Go expend some of that nervous tension you’re inflicting on everyone.”
“The lads could do with a rest,” Gabriel added.
Jane huffed. “Very well. It seems I’m outnumbered. I would love to show you my new horse anyway.”
Sir Timothy’s brows rose. “New horse?”
Jane glanced at Gabriel and found him expectantly awaiting her reply. She looked back at Sir Timothy and said, “I . . . shall explain as we ride.”
After a quick change into her riding habit with Cadi’s help, Jane returned to the stable. There, Gabriel deftly assisted her up onto the sidesaddle. As usual, he guided her boot into the single stirrup. But this time she felt oddly self-conscious with her ankle in his hand—especially with Sir Timothy there, watching the process. As soon as he’d finished, Jane smoothed down her long skirt, making sure her legs were fully covered. Then she adjusted the reins and clicked the horse into motion.
Surveying Athena, Sir Timothy gave a low whistle. “There’s a prime bit of blood. And very like your old mare, is she not?”
“Yes, very.”
Sir Timothy nudged his horse to come alongside hers. Athena snorted and gave the male a wild-eyed warning.
“It’s okay, girl,” Jane murmured.
“Take it easy,” Gabriel instructed. “She isn’t used to this dark horse yet.”
Sir Timothy gave him an odd look at that but then urged his horse forward.
Together he and Jane rode at a modest trot through the archway and then down the hill. Green fields dotted with red poppies spread before them, and blue sky above. As the ground leveled, they eased into a smooth canter. Ah . . .
She smiled at Timothy. “You were right. I needed this.” Her tension and fears drifted away on the temperate summer breeze.
As they rode toward Wishford, Jane became aware of an acrid odor. She sniffed the air. Was someone burning brush? “Do you smell smoke?” she asked.
He nodded, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “I do.”
Nearing the turnpike, Jane looked ahead to Fairmont. Her heart thudded. A column of black smoke spiraled upward. From the house? She pressed a hand to her chest. No. The new stable block.
From somewhere nearby a man’s sharp cry of “Fire!” rang out. Then again, “Fire! Fire in the stables!”
One of the builders, Jane guessed. Her heart tripped again. All that hay and straw. The poor horses!
For a moment she remained frozen in the saddle, dread seizing her. Where was James? She looked this way and that but saw no one to call to. Then she unhooked her knee and leapt down.
“Jane!” Timothy called in alarm. He dismounted in a rush and grabbed both sets of reins.
She hitched up her skirts and ran—through the gate and past the manor house toward the new building.
Reaching the stables, she saw smoke and a harried ostler trying to herd the horses from harm. He had bridled a stubborn dun and was all but dragging the terrified animal by the reins.
“Where is Mr. Drake?” she called. “Is he safely out?”
“Don’t know, ma’am.”
Jane tentatively crossed the threshold. The sound of crackling fire drew her attention to a door at one end of the building. The feed or tack room, perhaps. Smoke ran from under it like a black river.
Sir Timothy caught up with her, rushing in to help with the horses. A panicked grey whinnied and bucked, its hooves kicking the stall gate. Timothy yanked a lead rope from a peg and looped it quickly over the horse’s head, then led the frightened horse out to the yard.
Over his shoulder he called, “Jane, come out of there!”
“I want to make sure James is safe. Do you see him?”
Timothy dashed back in and took her by the arm, firmly drawing her out. “Let’s go.”
Other men came running from the manor and outbuildings, but still no sign of its new owner.
“There!” Sir Timothy pointed upward, and Jane looked to see what had drawn his attention.
Flames shot out from the upper-story loft. Through its open loading door, she saw James, trying to beat out flames with a horse blanket.
Seeing them below, he yelled, “Get help!”
Jane nodded, yelling to the gathering men as she passed, “There are ladders and buckets in the coal cellar. Fetch them!”
Jane ran back through the yard, jumped over a pile of lumber, and hurried to her horse, tethered near the gate. Timothy ran beside her. Reaching Athena, he bent and cupped his gloved hands. As she had done so many times over their long friendship, she placed her boot into his interlaced fingers, and he gave her a leg up.
Then he mounted his own horse. “I’ll summon men from Brockwell Court and alert Wishford on the way.”
She nodded. “I will bring help from The Bell and Ivy Hill.”
Jane galloped back up the hill, while Timothy diverted down the Wishford Road. Cresting the rise several minutes later, she turned Athena through The Bell archway.
There was Gabriel emerging from the stables, leading Sultan by the reins. He turned at the sound of galloping hooves. Seeing her, he called, “What is it?”
“Fire!” she yelled, pointing back the way she had come. “At Fairmont House.”
Jane noticed Tuffy, Ted, and Joe working in the courtyard. Mrs. Rooke and Dotty sat on the back porch, plucking hens.
Gabriel frowned in thought, then looked around him. “Tuffy, hitch up the wagon. You lads, load every can and bucket we have. We’ll have to start a water brigade.”
Mrs. Rooke said, “Why should any of us break our necks to help the man trying to put us out of business?”
Gabriel mounted Sultan. “Tomorrow we’re rivals. Today we’re neighbors.”
The horsemen hurried to do as Gabriel asked, and Jane continued on, riding through the village, shouting a call for help. At the churchyard gate, she spied the sexton and his shovel. “Ring the bell! There’s a fire at Fairmont House!”
Mr. Ainsworth tossed his shovel aside and loped toward the church.
Then Jane galloped back to the Fairmont, the clanging of the bell fading as she went. When she reached her old home, she was relieved to see Gabriel had arrived before her and had joined the builders and Fairmont staff already forming a line to the pond behind the manor. James stood on a ladder propped against the stable, awaiting the first bucket. Wagons from The Bell and Brockwell Court rumbled through the gate, and people came on foot from Ivy Hill, huffing and puffing down the slope, carrying pails and cans.
Through the crowd and smoke, Jane saw Sir Timothy, Thora, Talbot, and Joe. And there was Patrick at the pond’s edge, filling buckets with surprising energy and speed. Her heart warmed to him. She recognized a few regulars from The Bell, as well as Mr. Paley, Mrs. Bushby, and Mr. Cottle, the butcher. And several other villagers she knew by face if not by name. Other people ran over from the direction of nearby Wishford and began filling in the line.
Her heart filled to see people from both villages laying aside rivalry and self-interest to help a neighbor in need. Her eyes heated, but she blinked away tears before they could fall. It was probably just the smoke. It was certainly not the time to become sentimental.
Jane picked up a bucket and took her place in line.
Within an hour, they’d managed to put out the fire. By then, the stable’s west end—the tack room and hayloft—had been all but destroyed.
She overheard Sir Timothy, ever the magistrate, ask the Fairmont’s head ostler, “How did it start?”
“I don’t know. One of the builders with a careless cigar, I’d wager.”
“Or a spark from a lamp,” Mr. Kingsley rebutted.
Considering it was daylight, Jane doubted lamps had even been lit.
James Drake, she noti
Eventually the staff retreated inside and the builders and villagers departed for their own homes and businesses.
When only he, Jane, Gabriel, and James remained, Sir Timothy said, “Considering your contest tomorrow, it is difficult to believe this fire was an accident.”
“You think someone started it intentionally?” Jane asked.
“Wouldn’t you think so, if you were Mr. Drake?”
“But who would do such a thing?” Jane asked. “I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with it.”
“I would never believe it of you, Jane. Though perhaps someone who works for you.”
One possibility flickered through her mind, but she dismissed it. “I am sure you are mistaken.”
Beside them, James inhaled and drew back his shoulders. He glossed over Sir Timothy’s suspicions, saying, “I agree. An accident is far more likely, and won’t stop us from competing tomorrow.”
“But, James, look at this.” Jane gestured toward the partially charred building. “If you want to postpone for a few days, I—”
“No, Jane,” he said, his unflappable confidence reasserting itself. “The contest shall go forward as planned. And setback or no, the victory shall be ours.”
After the fire, Thora walked back to the inn. She washed her grimy face and hands at the pump, and then trudged inside, ready to recline in the office chair and rest for a few minutes. But when she entered, she was irritated to find Colin McFarland already seated at the desk.
She asked, “Why did you not come out and help with the fire?”
He rose. “I didn’t hear about it until after it was over.”
“Didn’t hear about it? Everyone in the village heard. Ah . . .” Thora realized, with a lift of her chin. “Out at your folks’ place again, were you? I understand that you wish to help your family, but I sometimes think you spend more time there than doing what you’re paid to do here.” She ran a finger over the dusty desktop. “This office was never this untidy in Talbot’s day. By the way, he managed to find time to help with the fire.”