Page 33 of New Beginnings at the Little Christmas Inn
When Livvy explained, Barbara’s eyes lit up. ‘Ooh, I’ve been meaning to try the food at The George. Jonquil said the menu looked great. She popped in with the cat you found. We still haven’t put it on display, but it’ll find a place. Great find!’
‘We found a mummified cat when the chimney was swept,’ Livvy explained to Mark.
He pulled a face. ‘As you do. Intriguing.’
‘Oh it is, it is,’ Barbara exclaimed. ‘We’re going to add it to our folklore section. We have quite a collection of items designed to keep witches at bay.’
Mark looked even more baffled.
‘Things shoved up chimneys to ward off evil spirits and witches,’ Livvy added.
‘Ah, that explains everything,’ he said, clearly not understanding a word.
Livvy gave him a quick look. ‘This isn’t your thing, is it?’ She could see he was trying to keep a straight face.
‘It’s so not my thing.’
‘Well,’ Barbara put in, rather stiffly, ‘even if it’s not your thing, as you put it, young man, it’s still part and parcel of our local history.’ Having dealt with Mark, she turned back to Livvy. ‘What did you hope to find out?’
‘If you’ve anything about the history of The George, that would be wonderful.’
‘Come this way,’ Barbara said, looking animated. ‘We’ve definitely something that will interest you.’
She led them up the main stairs and into a large room on the second floor. High ceilinged, it was painted a classic but chilly pale green. Elaborate gilt framed portraits hung from the picture rail, an impressive marble fireplace yawned cold and unlit and display cabinets stood rigidly to order. Apart from the three of them, it was empty of people. ‘As I said, we don’t get many visitors at this time of year. I suppose everyone is toobusy Christmas shopping.’ There was a faint note of disapproval in Barbara’s voice. ‘It seems to begin earlier and earlier and get more commercial every year.’
‘I agree,’ Livvy said. ‘I’ve only just decorated the pub and I’m weeks behind the rest of the town.’
‘Well, I suppose you have to make the effort when you’re running a public house. I have to say, Livvy, it’s good to meetsomeonewho’s taking an interest in our local history.’ Barbara gave Mark a reproving look. ‘This room is dedicated to Georgian and Victorian Lullbury.’ She swept a proud arm to indicate. ‘The seventeen hundreds is when the coach began running from Exeter to London. There used to be an inn at what is now a nursing home on the main Exeter road. The coach – The Arrow it was called – had been running along the main route for a while but the construction in 1820 of Lullbury’s only road into the centre of town made it possible for passengers to travel right into the middle. That’s when The George came into its own. The horses would need changing, stabling was necessary, and passengers would need refreshment and possibly accommodation too. As you’ll see when you look at the displays, it wasn’t a popular route because of its steepness.’ She gave a dry laugh. ‘The modern bus drivers still don’t like the climb up and down that hill.’
‘Neither does my van,’ Livvy put in. ‘I drove up it earlier this morning. I came back the other way, to avoid the hill and the congestion. It’s why I ended up popping in here.’
‘Yes well, that’s as maybe,’ Barbara said briskly, the engine capability of Livvy’s work van obviously of no interest. ‘Your pub, or coaching inn as it was then, ‘developed a lot of trade and it’s when it was rebuilt. The original structure is probably medieval but the outside shell is what was built in the early nineteenth century and that’s what you can see today.’ She stopped to take a breath. ‘Goodness, sorry for the history lecture.I do tend to go on once I get started.’ She gestured to the display cabinets. ‘You can read it all for yourself, so I’ll leave you in peace. If you’ve got any other questions, pop by the desk on your way out or take a look at the museum’s website. And now I must dash. I’ll be missing Pass the Parcel.’ She disappeared and they heard her clatter down the stairs, presumably to return to the staff party.
‘Mummified cats?’ Mark said, incredulously, into the swirled-up air Barbara had left.
‘Only the one. We found a book of poetry and sketches in the chimney too. That’s why I’m here really. Looking for clues who the book might belong to.’
‘And maybe why that was shoved up the chimney?’
‘Exactly.’ Livvy scanned the room. Spotting a large portrait of a young woman, she went over to it. ‘Oh.’ The sound came out as a long-drawn-out syllable. ‘She’s so beautiful.’ The dark hair, the enormous eyes and the beautiful rosebud mouth was very familiar.
Mark joined her. ‘Adela Dickson,’ he read. ‘Shewasbeautiful, wasn’t she?’ Bending down to peer closer at the tiny writing on the information board, he read, ‘Adela Dickson was the daughter of William and Augusta Dickson whose house this was.’ He looked up. ‘Oh, so she lived here. This was her house.’ He whistled. ‘Some house.’
‘What else does it say?’ Livvy stamped down her impatience as Mark got out his glasses before reading the rest.
‘Adela never married. It is believed she suffered an early romantic tragedy. She went on to live a full and adventurous life, undertaking a Grand Tour as well as investing in many charitable and benevolent enterprises. She was thought to be an acquaintance of Ada Lovelace. Ada Lovelace. Wow.’ He straightened. ‘Now, this is much more my thing.’
‘Who’s Ada Lovelace?’
‘Byron’s daughter. Some say she invented computer programming.’
‘Computers?’ Livvy forgot about reining in her impatience and went closer to Mark to read the information herself. She tried to ignore how good he smelled. ‘When are we talking about exactly?’
‘Says here she was born in 1808.’
‘Who? Ada Lovelace or our Adela?’
‘Adela. Born 1808. Died 1883. A wealthy woman by all accounts. She would have been a rough contemporary of Ada Lovelace’s. Ada was an astonishing woman.’
