Chapter 16
Sloe gin – a British liqueur made with sloe fruits picked after the first frosts of winter. Popular amongst ladies in the nineteenth century. Sweetness can be adjusted.
L ivvy rushed back. She had a hot date with a chimney sweep.
She half jogged up the steep hill back to the pub and arrived hot-faced and breathless just in time to see a smart black and silver van pull up in the car park.
Despite all best efforts, and after much early promise, the wood burner was smoking and not giving out the expected heat.
It had proved impossible to book a sweep before the stove was fitted.
The sweep’s name was Jonquil and she was as gloomy as her name was sunny.
A tiny, wiry middle-aged woman, she stood in front of the newly installed wood burner and tutted with violence.
‘Just as well I’m here. You can’t go using this old chimmley when it ain’t been swept for I don’t know how long.
You’ll have the whole place burning down round your ears. ’
‘Well, I’m very glad you got to me in time then,’ Livvy answered, trying to keep her temper.
She’d rung at least three times before the woman had got back to her.
‘As I said to you on the phone, ideally it would have been better to sweep it before having the wood burner fitted and lit. I’ll leave you to it, shall I? ’
‘Cuppa wouldn’t go amiss,’ Jonquil said, unfolding a huge white sheet and laying it down. ‘Two sugars, drop o’ milk.’
‘Coming right up.’ Livvy banged the kitchen door open, ignoring the woman’s mutters of, ‘Bloomin’ townies.’
Having taken Jonquil tea with some added biscuits in the saucer, Livvy returned to the kitchen, the ash and soot from the chimney was making her cough. Poor Candice would be dusting it off surfaces for days. Her phone buzzed. It was her father.
‘How’s it going, Liv? How was the grand opening?’
‘Went really well, Dad. Got great reviews for the food and everyone loved the bonfire and fireworks.’
‘Well, they’ll lap up anything free. Make sure you charge entrance next year.’
Livvy’s heart shrivelled a little. Was it too much to hope he’d say a simple congratulations?
‘You need to get online reviews,’ her father continued.
‘Tripadvisor is the thing folk read before they make decisions about where to eat. Times are hard. They don’t want to spend their hard-earned cash unless they’re sure of what they’ll get.
It’s tough in hospitality. We got shafted during Covid and the industry’s never recovered. ’
‘Yes, Dad.’ Livvy had heard this complaint for years. ‘I’m trying to build a community pub though.’
‘Are you?’ Brian Smith-Lygott sniffed in derision. ‘Doesn’t sound much like your original vision. Thought you were going foodie gastropub?’
‘I was. Still am. But I’d like to develop the idea of the pub being a hub of the community too.’
‘Look, darling, you of all people should know if you’re not clear about your vision, it gets diluted, and you don’t succeed. It’s not how we brought you up.’
‘I know.’ In her head Livvy had a hundred arguments to put forward. She wanted to do something different with The George. Her parents didn’t agree and couldn’t see why she’d broken away from their business model, so she remained quiet. It was useless to argue.
‘We’re coming down to see what your George is all about. Just before we go on that cruise. We’ll have an early Christmas together.’
Would have been nice to be asked. ‘Great. I hope we’ll do you proud.’
‘Well, we’ll see. Speak soon.’
The phone went dead. Livvy stared at it, exasperation and panic warring. Getting a room ready for her parents was yet another job to add to the list. She blew out a frustrated breath. Nothing would come up to her mother’s stratospherically high standards.
After nursing a mug of tea debating whether she’d be better giving up her bedroom and camping out in one of the others, she ventured back into the bar with another mug for the not so jovial Jonquil.
Jonquil appeared to be glad to see her, or it might have been the tea. ‘Aw, smashin’. Thirsty work doing this.’ She took the mug and drank.
Livvy retreated to the bar and perched on a stool. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Just as well you called me in when you did. Reckon that last lot what owned the place never let the chimmley see a brush. I’ve got a ton of stuff down.’
‘To be fair, the chimmley, I mean, chimney, was blocked off and there was an electric fire in place.’ Livvy sipped her tea, the soot getting to the back of her throat. Her admiration for what Jonquil did rose.
Jonquil gave a visible shudder. ‘Can’t be doing with blocking off a perfectly usable chimmley.’
‘I agree. I much prefer a wood burner.’
‘Can’t beat ’em. You got Darrell and his boys to do the work?’
‘Yes, although they had to call in a specialist to fit the stove itself.’
Jonquil finished her tea, leaving sooty fingerprints on the mug.
‘Good team, they are.’ She jerked her head to the stove.
‘Did a good job with this ’un. It’s a right bobby-dazzler.
’ She put the mug down on the now grey groundsheet and, picking up a long-handled brush, shoved it up the chimney.
‘Nearly there. Took a while, this did, and take my advice, it’ll need another go next spring. Can only get so much out in one go.’
‘I’ll book you in again before you leave then.’ Livvy had slipped off the stool to return to the kitchen when she was halted by Jonquil making a guttural sound.
‘What we got here then? Brush is wedged.’ She shoved harder and something fell out, landing on top of the sheet covering the stove. ‘Well, looky here.’
‘What is it?’
‘I finds all sorts stuck up chimmleys. My old Dad was a farmer an’ he used to stick a bull’s heart up to keep his cattle from getting sick.’
Livvy was still processing this bizarre statement as she went nearer. Jonquil was an eccentric in a town full of them and she didn’t know how to take her. Hardly wanting to look, she peered down at the blackened and twisted object. Then she recognised it. ‘Oh my God!’ She flinched back violently.
‘Yeah. It was a cat, alright.’ Jonquil’s eyes gleamed. She was the most animated Livvy had seen her.
Looking more closely, Livvy could see quite clearly the outline of the cat’s features, even its ears pointing above its domed head. It wasn’t a skeleton, more a preserved, albeit flattened, carcass.
‘Mummified,’ Jonquil put in. ‘By the looks of things. Dried up by the heat from the fire.’
‘Did it get stuck? Poor thing.’ Livvy felt bile rise. She remembered the scrabbling sounds from the other night. ‘Was it after a mouse?’
‘Nah. Someone put it up there. To keep the witches away. Old building this. Folk used to think a chimmley was a passageway between this world and t’other.
They used to stick all sorts up a chimmley to keep evil away.
I’ve come across shoes, witches’ bottles, flanks o’ bacon stuck with pins to catch the witch on her way down.
’ Jonquil cackled. ‘Never fails to surprise me, what I find.’
Livvy backed away. ‘But to put a cat up there. That’s horrible.’
‘Must have been some pretty strong magic they was afeared of. Don’t you worry, my lovely, the cat is likely to have been dead long afore they shoved it up there. Poor critter.’ Jonquil shook her head. ‘Thems were cruel times back then, though.’
‘It’s still horrible. I don’t believe in all that stuff. It’s ridiculous.’ To her embarrassment Livvy found her voice was shaking.
‘I’ll see what else is up there, shall I?’
Livvy was torn. If there was anything as horrific as the cat she didn’t want to know. On the other hand, she’d rather Jonquil got everything out.
Jonquil pulled the brush down, along with a shower of soot.
The smell was choking. ‘I’ll just give him one last go.
Might have found me a nook or cranny.’ She pushed the brush back up, stopped when it was halfway and appeared to be listening.
‘Just a wink to the right,’ she whispered and then shoved hard and pulled back.
This time the object was smaller and, to Livvy’s relief, less obviously macabre. Jonquil picked it up and brushed centuries old soot and ash off. ‘Reckon this one’s a book,’ the woman said, feeling it. ‘Wrapped in old, waxed cloth, by the looks of it. I’ll unwrap it, you take it.’
Livvy hovered, hardly able to breathe. She was very aware of the cat’s body still lying on top of the stove and braced herself should it be anything as horrific.
It wasn’t. Jonquil peeled back the cloth to reveal, as predicted, a book.
It was black and leather-covered. Livvy took it between finger and thumb.
It wasn’t very big, probably about the same size as an A5 notebook.
She took it to the bar where the light was better.
Hardly daring to touch it, she opened the front cover.
It revealed a dedication in beautifully written script:
“To my love, my secret love, my one and only.”
‘Poetry, by the looks,’ Jonquil said. ‘Fancy.’
Livvy started. She hadn’t heard her come up behind.
‘I think it’s a notebook.’ She turned another page.
‘Poems and, look, some sketches.’ They stared at a pen and ink sketch of a young woman.
She had hair dressed in ringlets on either side of her face and had on a dress with a scooped neckline and extravagantly puffed sleeves. ‘She was beautiful,’ Livvy breathed.
‘She was. I’ll take this poor puss out your way, shall I?’ Jonquil said, bringing Livvy back to earth. ‘Might take the poor beggar up the museum. Got a lot of folkie type stuff in there. You should take a looky. Someone might tell you about that there book.’
‘Thank you, Jonquil. I’ll do that.’ Livvy focused. ‘And thank you for taking the–’ she couldn’t bring herself to say the word body. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘No worries.’ Jonquil tenderly wrapped the corpse in a sooty groundsheet.
‘Poor pussycat. I hopes you had a good life afore you met your end.’ She glanced up at the blackboard with the specials chalked up and became much more matter of fact.
‘Might bring the old fella by. We likes us a good steak and chips.’
‘Please do.’ Livvy was warming to her. ‘Please come and eat. First drinks on the house.’
‘Aw well, in that case, it’s a no-brainer.’ Jonquil grinned. ‘And I’d like to know about this old book an’ all. I’ll just clear up and that’s me finished then, I reckon.’
Livvy took the hint. ‘I’ll pay you by BACS, shall I? And book you in for the next time.’
When Jonquil had gone, thankfully taking the mummified cat with her, Livvy returned to the kitchen.
Placing the notebook carefully on a shelf, she switched on her laptop.
Intending to email Yolanda, she found herself putting in a search for cats in chimneys.
What Jonquil had said about scaring witches must be a load of old nonsense…
It appeared not. Several sites came up with numerous examples of items found in chimneys and the theory behind it.
It was horrible. Feeling sick, Livvy shut down the computer and reached for her phone.
Determined to put it all to the back of her mind, she sent a chatty text to Yolanda instead.