“I trust you will be comfortable in this quiet corner, with a fine view outside to refresh your thoughts,” Madam says, standing at the window with its floral curtains. “Our curtains are imported, not standard,” she comments glibly.
“Yes, of course, that is what I thought! That is simply a beautiful view. And much appreciated!” Garty feels genuinely impressed with the ambience of his appointed living quarters.
“Help yourself to a refreshing Apple juice, made locally,” Madam says, raising one arm in a broad flourish towards the cupboard, just like a ballerina on a stage might do, Garty thinks. Perhaps she was a dancer?
“That’s very kind of you,” Garty replies, taking his purse from a hidden pocket and placing a gold coin in her palm. Her eyes light up and brows rise but her voice tunes to extra sweet.
“Thank you kindly, Knight Commander. Your generosity is sublime!” She replies with a nod of her head.
“I shall settle the account as soon as necessary,” he says, wondering if I may manage it? This place seems above my budget, he reckons. What have I done, to stay here for a whole week? He shudders internally.
She fingers the glistening, smooth coin and hastily plants it deep in a pocket within the tiered folds of her thickly woven dark skirts. Her bustling figure turns and silently floats smoothly through the door and disappears from his viewing. His eye tracks her sublime, vanishing movements with admiration. She sparks a vague memory within me about a wind up doll that danced on a box a long time ago.
He rubs his tired eyes.
Garty removes his hat and cape and places them on brass hangers inside the sparse wardrobe. The robe dangles on the floor of the space. His hat perches atop the wardrobe. He did not wish to have it crushed, so is careful to secure it safely.
Snuggling into the comfortable chair, he rearranges the cushions against his back and stretches his stiff legs, tugging his leather boots off and kicking them away from his space. Weariness rushes over him as a wave of the sea. He closes his eyes and for a few moments rests. It feels good to relax after an arduous four hours riding from the previous village, Loopa, where he had absolutely no success with his mission. Sleep had evaded him all the night before because of a noisy crowd arguing all night long. His heart sank for a moment as the thought of Scatt being the same scenario once again? He closes his eyes tightly to dissuade his thoughts.
It does feel quieter here, he thinks. At last my mind rambles over the last days’s travel through hills and dales. Rocky terrains and smooth surfaces, grass and muddy lanes, flowers of every kind come flashing back as a vivid memory to me as if I were riding through every part again. What beautiful aromas I sense? I must eat soon!
The olfactory aroma of primroses and steaming coffee close by dumb down his plans as he feels totally relaxed.
He wakes up suddenly! It is late morning. Garty’s feet felt as though they have been bolted to the floor. He rubs his lower legs to stir circulation. He jumps up wondering where he is for a moment. A knock on his door causes him to remember the last moment before falling asleep in the most comfortable chair he ever relaxed in.
“Just a moment,” he calls out to the unseen knocker. He wonders, who on earth knows about these lodgings and who would visit me here? He runs his hand through his thick unruly hair, and wipes his face with his palms.
“I’m coming…”
His legs are stiff from sleeping in a strange position. By the time he limps towards the door and opens it to see who is there, the caller has gone, disappeared into thin air. He pushes the door open wide and steps into the small passageway. A faint aroma that makes his mouth water reached his nostrils. He almost steps on a silver tray containing some covered dishes and a folded newspaper. He looks around but nobody is here!
“My fairy godmother, Mrs. Bouchée,” he says aloud, shrugging his shoulders, then moving back inside his room with his silver tray, as an athlete might retreat with a prize. He lays the tray on top of the dining table.
His nose detects the delicious aroma beneath the silver covers on the tray. I wonder who ordered this? He ponders. Then he notices a small card with his name on it and the words, With compliments, The Maud Inn.
A pot of hot coffee tantalises his nostrils, compelling him to pour out a cup. The cup is the finest porcelain and the cutlery crafted with quality silver. He sips the coffee and feels its fine tang, awakens his senses.
“This is very good,” he says aloud, nodding his head, allowing the warm liquid to baste his palate.
Ham and eggs with thick warm bread, toasted to perfection were soon devoured ravenously and his stomach satisfied at last. A small cup of apple juice makes everything absolutely complete.
“One keeps the best 'till last,” Garty spoke the words as he picked up the folded newspaper. It seems surreal, even prophetic as nowhere in all his travels could he remember such fine dining in a small, unknown town, in an inn of a forgettable name? The newspaper is dated the exact date of 19 March, Year of our Lord, 1799. The cusp of a new century looms and he is hopeful that this will finally be his year of success before its demise. For the first time in years his heart leaps for joy. He grasps the stiff paper fiercely, reflecting his determination to end his mission on a high, accidentally ripping a corner containing tiny writing that he concludes is of little importance to anyone. “If one cannot read it because of its diminutive size, it is useless…” he murmurs, sighing.
His keen eye flashes through its pages as he absorbs the news about local suppliers, a farm accident involving a young family, a horse and dray. Businesses advertise their wares and preachers warn of the dangers of idle hands and the coming judgement. An idea comes to him as he reads.
The local gossip column is of some interest, he thinks, amused by what he reads. The delay of eggs being delivered because of drought, fruit prices rising to a never before seen level. Garty places the paper on the table. I wonder if there is a means of calling the servants without rushing to reception?
“You just pull a cord and servants arrive.” As he mutters the words, he notices a cord near the wall, with a track heading through the top of the doorpost.
“Well, well, ring the bell Garty!” He says aloud, with amusement.
He tugs the black satin cord and immediately a bell rings in the hallway.
“Next step, someone must hear it and heed it,” he says aloud again. He waited momentarily. A light knock on the door caused Garty to stand up with astonishment.
“It works,” he says laughing as if it is a joke.
He opens the door. Before him stands a young man wearing a yellow shirt and black waistcoat. He stands still as a soldier, silently staring straight at Garty awaiting instruction.
“Well, who are you?” Says Garty, “Name?” breaking the ice.
“Droop at your service, Sir.” The young man stands his ground, grinning with anticipation.
“Yes, I do need service. Please take this?”
Garty hands over the silver tray with a few crumbs remaining. “It was delicious, please tell Madam,” he says.
“May I have a jug of wash water?”
His empty breakfast tray had a golden coin hidden under a white napkin. Garty felt light and generous and forgot that his coins were disappearing fast. With a flourish he presents the young man with a silver coin which he promptly pops into his black trouser pocket, giving Garty a huge smile.
“Thank you Sir!”
Droop returns shortly bearing a huge jug of warm water and a sparkling white towel.
“Can I get you anything else, Sir?” Droop asks Garty.
“This is sufficient, thank you, Droop,” Garty replies.
The young man bows his head and dashes away silently.
Garty opens his soft leather knapsack where he transports his toiletries, including a sharp razor, face soap, and a steel comb. Following a brisk toiletry that involves washing his face, shaving and combing his hair, he is ready to meet any enemy, or to greet any friend. He tugs his boots onto his feet and reaches for his cape and hat, admiring his reflection, giving himself a nod in the mirror.
“Very well done, you handsome man!” he says gaily.
Immediately he searches for Brill, who is nibbling a nose bag happily. He has been groomed already and is keen to get to ride.
“Hey, boy, not now, later! I will just walk yonder and find a place that might help with our quest. I will be back before you know it. Just enjoy your well deserved breakfast and a rest.”
From the corner of his eye he sees Bubba carrying a bucket, heading towards the chicken coop at the back of the property. She did look back for a moment but her step quickens as if she is fearful. He pats his horse again and speaks quietly.
“The little lady will look after your needs. I can see that, Brill.”
Garty walks swiftly to the far side of the street, his cape flowing behind him in the morning breeze that came in soft waves from the East. The air is fresh and he sucks it in greedily. His energy is returning after such a deep sleep and now his mind is churning with ideas to bring his mission to a satisfying and triumphant finish.
The printer’s name is written in black and white lettering above the door of a three storey building, unusually high for a small town. “Jael Newspaper” Garty reads the words above the door, just like a newspaper, he muses in jest. He pushes open the wooden door that is slightly ajar into the foyer area. A small front desk is before Garty, where a man with grey hair is busily writing on a large piece of paper. Wearing silver rimmed spectacles, he looks above them at his first visitor for the day.
“You need something?” he asks in a brusk tone that declares he is very busy.
Garty tips his hat and stands near the desk, slowly retrieving the oligarch picture from his breast pocket.
“I need your help,” he says smartly.
“You want something advertised?” The man looks up.
Garty notes his name on the desk, and then speaks.
“Yes, Jael, I do. This picture with words beside it!”
Garty places the little painted scrap on the counter.
“Now, can I have your name and whereabouts?” Jael bent his head and began to write as Garty gave the information required.
“How many copies of your newspaper do you distribute?”
Garty makes this inquiry as a logical one.
Jael looks up. He is not used to interrogations of this kind.
“This is a town, not a city!” He snaps. Then Jael looks as if he is about to send Garty away on the spot. “However, we have passers by, like yourself, who take our product for many miles to other towns, so I cannot give you an exact count, but possibly one hundred folk read this paper daily!” Jael says this authoritatively.
“That is quite a good number, considering there seem to be only around fifty folk in the town, and so many may not read at all!” Garty says, immediately regretting his words.
Jael looks fiercely into Garty’s eyes, with thunder looming within his soul. His countenance changes quickly, and he is completely self-controlled again.
“All news is not read in papers. Some is read in eyes,” Jael adds smartly. “Word of mouth is also powerful.” Jael adds, as he advises Garty, with his eyebrows popping automatically.