Chapter 20 #2
‘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 meet someone who’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.
‘She was beautiful, 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.’
‘Computer programs in the nineteenth century? Really?’ Livvy scanned the portrait again. ‘Wonder if Adela was as clever? She was certainly beautiful. Why didn’t she marry? I’d imagine it was the expected thing back then.’
Mark nodded. ‘Ada Lovelace did. And had children. She was only in her thirties when she died. Who knows what she would have achieved had she lived longer.’ He pushed his specs up his nose in an endearing gesture. ‘Maybe Adela thought an independent life was the better option.’
Livvy thought of Gavin. ‘She might have had a point,’ she said, drily.
Examining the portrait more closely, she added, as realisation dawned, ‘You know, she looks exactly like the woman whose sketch is in the book I found in the chimney. I can show you, if you like, it’s back at the pub.
’ She frowned, trying to get her head around it all.
‘But, if it is Adela Dickson in the notebook, why would a sketch of her be in a book found stuffed up the chimney in The George?’
‘No idea,’ Mark said, cheerfully. ‘But I think Barbara’s converted me. I’m finding this all very intriguing. I’d love to have a look at the drawing.’
‘There’s some poetry in the book too.’
‘Any good?’
Livvy grinned. ‘I’d say he was a better artist than writer.’
Mark grinned back. ‘Ah.’
‘To be fair, I’m no expert in early nineteenth century literature.
’ Livvy beamed at him. ‘It was worth coming into the museum for this alone.’ She moved on to a display case.
‘Oh, Mark! Here’s a drawing of The George.
I’d love to get hold of a copy. Look, you can see the arch over the entrance to the car park.
It’s attached to what is now that office block.
Must have been where the old horse-drawn coaches entered.
Funny that it’s still the way into the car park.
And look, it says here it had stabling for fifty horses.
Wow.’ She giggled. ‘The stables must be those decrepit outhouses I’ve inherited.
At some point, in the far distant future, I plan to convert them into holiday accommodation.
Oh, this bit is all about a carriage crash.
It says just as the coach was coming down the hill into town it overturned.
’ She reared back in horror. ‘A passenger died. How awful. No wonder the route wasn’t popular.
Too dangerous. Not sure I want The George to be associated with such a tragedy.
Maybe I’ll rethink that local history display. ’
Mark slung a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘There must be loads of memories of The George that people can share. Perhaps ones not so old and sad. Birthday parties, people getting together. Maybe ask people for happy photos to put up.’
‘That’s a much better idea. I can’t believe my pub was the scene of such drama.’ She shuddered. ‘It’s horrible.’
Mark tightened his arm. ‘And a long time ago,’ he said kindly. ‘Do you want to look at anything else, or shall we get out of here? Come on,’ he added, teasing, ‘let’s take a leap back into the twenty-first century. Or do you want to stare at a few mummified cats?’
Livvy elbowed him in the ribs and shook her head. ‘No thanks.’ At that precise moment her stomach gurgled. ‘Sorry,’ she blushed. ‘Didn’t have any breakfast.’
‘Think I should remedy that. Come on, I know just the place.’