The Swan Maid. Dilly Court

her, carrying two dangerously full chamber pots. ‘You’d think the horses had pissed in these. I was all for emptying them over the balustrade, but May stopped me just in time.’

      ‘That would have taken Trotter down a peg or two,’ Lottie said, laughing. ‘He wouldn’t have been so cocky then.’

      Ruth backed out into the yard, taking care not to spill a drop. ‘Maybe I’ll be in time to have a few words with him before the coach leaves. It’s me he fancies, not May.’

      ‘I expect he’s got a wife and half a dozen nippers at home. I’d watch out for him if I were you, Ruth.’

      ‘I will, don’t you fret, ducks.’ Ruth stepped outside, leaving Lottie to finish her unenviable task.

      That done, she returned to the bedrooms, and made them ready for the next occupants. When she was satisfied that Mrs Filby could find nothing to criticise in her work, she went downstairs to help Cook prepare the midday meal.

      Jezebel Pretty did not live up to her name. She was tall, raw-boned and ungainly, with a lean, mean face and a fiery temperament. She had served a two-year sentence in Coldbath Fields prison, commonly known as The Steel, for inflicting grievous bodily harm on her former lover, and had been employed at the inn for almost a year. Lottie, Ruth and May had often spoken about her in the privacy of the attic room where they laid their heads at night, but it was not the fact that the Filbys had taken on an ex-convict that shocked them. What they found hard to believe was that anyone as patently ugly as Jezebel could have found a man who fancied her in the first place, or one who was foolish enough to take on a woman whose volatile temper simmered beneath the surface, erupting every now and then like a volcano.

      Even so, Lottie had discovered a different side to Jezebel. Not long after the cook had started work at the inn, a small mongrel terrier had got in the way of one of the mail coach horses. The poor creature had been flung up in the air and had landed on the cobblestones in a pathetic heap. Jezebel had happened to be in the yard, smoking her clay pipe, when the accident occurred, and Lottie had seen her rush to the animal’s aid. She had picked it up and, cradling it in her arms like a baby, carried it into the kitchen. Lottie had followed, offering to help and had watched Jezebel examining the tiny body for broken bones with the skill of an experienced surgeon, and the tenderness of a mother caring for her child.

      Despite two broken ribs and several deep cuts, Lad – as Jezebel named him – survived, and they became inseparable, despite Mrs Filby’s attempts to banish the dog from the kitchen, or any part of the building other than the stables. Lad, quite naturally, had developed a deep distrust of horses and he refused to be parted from his saviour. Jezebel, who was a good cook and worked for next to nothing, was the one person Mrs Filby treated with a certain amount of restraint and respect, and Lad was allowed to stay.

      Lottie entered the kitchen and received an enthusiastic greeting from the small dog, who seemed to remember that she was one of the first people who had shown him any kindness. Having been flea-ridden and undernourished when he first arrived, he was now plump and lively, with a shiny white coat and comical brown patches over one eye and the tip of one ear.

      ‘Where’ve you been?’ Jezebel demanded. ‘The bullock’s head is done and the meat needs to be taken off the bone, and the vegetables need preparing to go in the stew. I’ve been run off me feet. I was better off in The Steel than I am here.’

      ‘I would have come sooner, but I had to wait on in the dining parlour and I hadn’t finished the bedchambers, but I’m here now.’

      ‘And where are those two flibbertigibbets? I suppose they’re making sheep’s eyes at that fellow Trotter. My Bill was just like him until I spoiled his beauty with my chiv. Trotter had best look out, that’s all I can say.’

      Lottie lifted the heavy saucepan off the range. She knew better than to argue the point with Jezebel. It was easier and safer to keep her mouth shut and get on with her work; that way the long days passed without unpleasantness and everyone was happy in his or her own way. She had learned long ago that it was pointless to bemoan the fate that had brought her to The Swan with Two Necks. Born into an army family, her early years had been spent in India, and when her mother died of a fever, which also took Lottie’s younger brothers and sister, she had been sent to England with a family who were returning on leave, and left with her Uncle Sefton in Clerkenwell. A confirmed bachelor, he had little time for children and Lottie had been packed off to boarding school, although her uncle had made it plain that he considered educating females to be a total waste of money.

      She had received a basic education until the age of twelve, when she returned home to find that her uncle had married a rich widow. Lottie’s childhood had ended when her new aunt, supposedly acting with her niece’s best interests at heart, had sent Lottie to work for the Filbys. It was just another form of slavery: she worked from the moment she rose in the morning until late at night, when she fell exhausted into her bed.

      ‘Are you doing what I told you, or are you daydreaming again, Lottie Lane? D’you want to feel the back of my hand, girl?’ Jezebel reared up in front of Lottie, bringing her back to the present with a start.

      ‘Sorry, ma’am.’

      ‘Get on with it, or you’ll get another clout round the head, and I ain’t as gentle as the missis.’ Jezebel stomped out into the yard, snatching up her pipe and tobacco pouch on the way. Lad trotted at her heels, growling and baring his teeth at the horses.

      Lottie set to work and dissected the head, taking care not to waste a scrap of meat. Mrs Filby would check the bones later, and woe betide her if there was any waste. Parsimonious to the last, Prudence Filby ruled her empire with a rod of iron.

      Minutes later, Jezebel marched back into the room. ‘Where’s Jem? The butcher has delivered the mutton. I want the carcass boned and ready for the pot. Go and find him, girl.’

      ‘But I haven’t finished what I’m doing.’

      Jezebel moved with the speed of a snake striking its prey. The sound of the slap echoed round the beamed kitchen, and Lottie clutched her hand to her cheek. ‘The bullock’s going nowhere, but you are. Find the boy and tell him to get started or I’ll be after him.’

      Lottie found Jem in the taproom, serving ale to the newly arrived male passengers, while Mrs Filby shepherded the ladies to the dining parlour, where they would be plied with coffee, tea and toast, all of which were added onto the bill. Each day was the same, and everyone knew their part in the carefully choreographed routine designed to make the travellers part with their money in as short a time as possible. Jem had taken too long offloading the last coach and was now behindhand with his tasks. Normally cheerful and easy-going, he was looking flushed and flustered.

      ‘Cook wants you, Jem.’ Lottie took the pint mug from his hand. ‘I’ll finish up in here. There’s only minutes before the coach leaves.’

      ‘I suppose she’s in a foul mood, as usual.’

      ‘You’ll soon find out if you don’t hurry up.’ Lottie passed the mug of ale to a man seated at the nearest table. She had just finished serving when the call came for the passengers to board, and she heard the clatter of hoofs and the rumble of wheels as yet another mail coach pulled into the stable yard. She was relieved by Shem Filby, who escorted the new guests into the taproom, enabling her to hurry back to the kitchen to prepare the vegetables.

      Early mornings were always hectic, and she was used to the rush, although by midday everyone was beginning to flag, but there was no time to rest. Private carriages made up most of their custom during the day. Filby was pleased to point out that some people preferred the convenience of being transported from door to door, a luxury not provided when travelling by train, and others feared that the speed reached by steam engines would have serious effects on their health. The railways, he said, would one day put them out of business, but that was a long way off, or so he hoped.

      Lottie did not have time to worry about such matters. She alternated between the kitchen, the dining room and the bedchambers, as did Ruth and May. They met briefly at mealtimes, with rare moments of free time during the afternoon