Chapter 1

Olivia put aside her quill pen and surveyed the neatly written accounts with satisfaction. As was her practice, she carefully sprinkled a little fine sand over them so they would not smear as they dried. The late September sun was streaming through the open window in her father’s office as she stoppered the inkpot.

She could hear the familiar sounds of the busy London thoroughfare of Aldgate below. The cries of sellers, the rumble of wagons, the bleats and squawks of livestock on their way to market, these were all sounds she had grown up with at The Green Man Inn.

Some visitors remarked that is was an unusual name for a bustling tavern amid a busy urban centre, but Olivia reflected with a smile that a name from the depths of the country did no harm to their custom. The property had been in the family for generations and like many London alehouses, provided respite for those on their way to and from the city gates. Merchants, pedlars and pilgrims mingled with locals for a tankard of ale and some hot food in the main room. In the large dormitories above, there were beds for weary travellers.

Her grandmother had cannily added to the building, providing private downstairs parlours for grandees to sup in without mixing with the great unwashed. Above these, reached by a separate staircase, were discreet private bed chambers. If any serving wenches followed a noble up the steps to provide a more personal service, the family turned a blind eye, as long as it was discreet. The Green Man had a reputation to conserve after all.

Her father has expanded the business also, enterprisingly becoming a prosperous wine merchant, which further encouraged the great and good to visit the premises. He was away in Kent to collect a precious shipment of fine wine from France, returning with this up-river to ensure it was handled correctly. He hated to travel in winter when the weather made journeys by land, sea and river treacherous, so this would be his last trip of the year, for which Olivia was thankful for.

Thinking of him, Olivia missed her father dreadfully, even though he was only away for a few days on a regular voyage. She was happy enough to keep this week’s takings up to date for his perusal, and to keep the tavern ticking over with the help of well-trained staff, but she felt adrift without his comforting hands at the reins of the family firm.

Aware of this, her father had left behind Jehan, his burly servant, in case any drunken customer, when it was the time to pay their reckoning, might think to get the better of a dainty-looking and pretty young woman.

Olivia had helped in the running of the inn since she was a girl, trained by her wise grandmother after her mother had died of a fever. Her father’s mother had been widowed young, brought up her son alone and had run the tavern until he came to manhood. She had rarely spoken of her husband. When she did, her brisk manner would falter, and she would shed a tear for one she lost so many years before.

In good time, on her grandmother’s passing, Olivia had taken over her role entirely. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, my treasure,” her father would always say with a twinkling grin.

At twenty, she was not yet married, which was not unusual amongst the other young women of the city’s mercantile class. Many of the girls she knew were an integral part of the family business, like herself. Or their sweethearts were still apprenticed and would need to establish themselves in their given trade before they could be wed. Not that she was in any hurry, she thought to herself, The Green Man was all she had ever known and she could not yet think of being parted from it.

These reflections were disturbed by a crash of crockery from downstairs. The wail of the kitchen maid was followed by the cross yell of the cook. Anticipating the inevitable shout of, “Miss Olivia!” she tipped the sand back in its container, rolled up the accounts and placing them in the trunk, locked them with the keys she held around her waist. She left the room to descend the stairs to scold and placate where required.

Her father returned when expected, in good spirits, pleased with the quality of his cargo and eager to sell it on at a considerable profit. He and Olivia were tasting the vintage one late afternoon in between the busy and morning and evening shifts. It was a pleasant way to confer over tavern matters before they were called to their duties.

He finished an entertaining anecdote of his travels and Olivia said impulsively, “How glad I am you are returned safely to us. I am so relieved this was your final trip until the spring.”

His normally open face grew shuttered and he looked away from her, his smile fading suddenly, saying neutrally, “Maybe so.” Then to Olivia’s surprise, he continued. “We have one more journey to make this year, and a happy one, as you are to be married.