Page 8 of The Tart's Final Noel
In the lobby, a skinny young man in a short top hat and shabby coat waited.Rafe really needed to be here to greet strangers, but actual guests seldom strayed this far off the main highway.
“May I help you?”
He hastily removed his hat and twirled it nervously between his fingers.“Are you the innkeeper?I was told I might find a room for a month or two while we set up the new hardware store.”He bobbed a belated bow.“Sorry, I’m Jed Jasper.I’m to be the clerk.”
All the men were eagerly awaiting the new hardware.Finally, the village would have more than Oswald’s antiquated mercantile.
“Mr.Jasper, welcome, I’m Mrs.Russell.My husband is out at the moment.Let me fix you some tea while I send for someone to show you what’s available.”She had no idea what was available to rent formonths, but she led him into the newly cleaned pub.
A paying guest!For months...
They had never talked about letting rooms as a permanent abode, as they did in towns.The inn had room to spare, of course, but their staff and facilities were limited.Having grown up in a mansion, she knew nothing of such arrangements.
She asked Miss Butler to prepare tea for their guest, then hurried outside.Rafe hadn’t returned.Neither had Mr.Sutter.Fletch should have been here while Rafe was out, but for some reason, he must have left for the stable where he trained horses.What on earth was happening that they’d abandoned incompetent her to handle an entire inn?She couldn’t show men to their rooms.
Hammering in a shed off the stable drew her in that direction.Mr.Upton was establishing a carpentry shop in the shed, but the curate wasn’t around either.His assistant, Nate Blackwell, and one of the ex-soldiers from the manor were working on shutters.She’d met the soldier with the peg leg...Cratchit.That was it.
“I have a dilemma, gentlemen.”She waited until they politely put down their tools.Rafe was going way into debt keeping them employed.They had to be respectful.“There is a stranger seeking rooms to let.I need someone to show him about.I really don’t know what a gentleman expects?—”
Blackwell was the silent sort.Cratchit, however, set aside his tool and wiped his hands.He had blood on his shirtsleeve and a bandage on his arm.“Needs a place to heat his water unless you want to be carrying up hot water twice a day.Has no valet, does he?”
She hoped Meera had seen to his injured arm, but that wasn’t her concern.“No, Mr.Jasper says he’s just a clerk.We have braziers in some rooms...”
Still struggling with his coat, Cratchit limped for the door.“The shutters ain’t in bad shape in that new wing.”He pointed out the stone section extending behind the Elizabethan half-timbered main structure.“There’s only two rooms up and two down, but there’s a solid chimney between them.”
They’d had the chimneys cleaned when they started the restoration.But they hadn’t even talked about opening that wing.They didn’t have enough staff to run all the way to the far end of the inn, especially in bad weather.So they’d not furnished anything.But a room by the week...
“I can find a bed and linen, maybe a washstand, in the castoff room.”She was thinking aloud as they crossed the dirt yard.“But no dressers that I remember.”
“Hooks, shelves.I can do that.What do you want me to tell him you’ll charge?”
Anything at all was better than nothing, but she had to be professional.She erred on the low side, just until they learned how much work this involved.
He nodded.“Charge extra for washing linen and housekeeping.Include breakfast but anything else is extra.”
A customer for Rafe’s pub!“It sounds like you’ve done this before.”Verity had no difficulty keeping up with his limping stride as they strode down the back hall.
“Been taking rooms most of my life.Better than a tent when I have the coin.”
Wondering where he slept now, Verity introduced Cratchit to Mr.Jasper and left them to talk.
Renting rooms!Of course.Gravesyde might not have travelers, but childless workers who lived here might afford a room easier than renting one of the many vacant, run-down cottages.
By the time she settled the orphans in her private dining room for lunch, she’d heard no more from Cratchit and their new guest than furniture scraping against the attic floor.
They were still eating when Arthur’s loud shouting from the lobby caused the little ones to cringe and Verity to hastily shove from the table.Kate’s eldest was usually a polite lad.
She waved Rob and the orphans back to their seats, picked up her skirt, and hurried to the lobby.Arthur had Brydie’s height, but with his golden-brown locks, he didn’t look much like either of the auburn-haired sisters.His tanned cheeks red with the wind, he twisted his cap apprehensively.“Mr.Russell isn’t back yet?”
That was worrisome but Verity tried to act as if all were well.“Not yet.Is aught wrong?”
He swallowed and sought words.“We found a buggy that went off the road.The wheel is bent.Mr.Henri is bringing it in.I brought the bag.”He stepped aside so she could see the tapestry satchel.“But—” He gestured helplessly.“The person...the driver...”
Arthur had never been erudite but this nervousness was unusual.Before she could draw him out, carriage wheels rattled into the unpaved yard.
“I’ll fetch Mr.Russell.”The lad took off as if the hounds of hell were on his heels.He galloped off on one of the manor’s horses with the expertise of one who’d been riding a horse that size all his life.
What on earth was going on that no one was telling her about?She was feeling decidedly left out.
