Old Mrs. Barrow was a retired widow who was quite content with her life. She had performed her duty and married off both her daughters and her son- who was sent at a very early age to live with a friend as they couldn't afford it- was a sailor in the Navy.

That evening, it had begun to thunder loudly and Mrs. Barrow rushed in to the back yard to take the wash of the clothes line. While she was removing the pegs, she thought about business and how poorly it was going. Her customers were getting fewer by the hour. The Inn was in a shabby state. It needed a lot of repairing but at the moment she didn't have any money to spare. "Oh Mr. Barrow," she said aloud, "If only you were alive…you'd have done the repairing yourself." Sighing, she took down the last stocking and folded it on top of the pile. Placing one hand on her hip and the other around the laundry basket, she made her way back indoors.

By five o'clock it was raining quite heavily. Mrs. Barrow sat in her room upstairs, by the hearth with her little feet placed upon a stool. Percy, the cook was making a stew and the smell of beef broth filled the lower regions of The Poppyrock. Tonight it will be just us again she thought bitterly. Soon we'll be closing this place up…all the better if I just sell it right away. She reached for 'The Times and flipped to the 'Property' page. I'll have to contact-

What was that noise?

Throwing the newspaper aside, Mrs. Barrow heaved her plump body of the armchair and scurried to the window. It was raining so hard that she couldn't make out anything at first. Everything just looked like a blur. Wait…was it a….? Out of curiosity, she undid the catch and lock and flung open the window, bathing herself at the same time. When her little eyes fell upon the port chaise parked below, just outside the Inn, a throttle of hysterical laughter escaped her lips and she did a little dance right there in her parlour. Then she took the miniature portrait of late Mr. Barrow which she always kept safely hidden in her skirt pockets and bestowed upon it more kisses than he had received when alive.

Oh my dear Mr. Barrow! We are saved!

Running downstairs to receive her guests herself, she found them already welcomed into the hall by Peter. The little party consisted of two gentlemen and two- very fashionable- women (one considerably older than the other), followed by a scrawny-looking boy with slumped shoulders. The taller gentlemen- a lieutenant or something of the sort- looked soaked to the bone and Mrs. Barrow immediately offered to take of his cloak and ushered him off to the fireside. Both ladies looked extremely pale and weary. Without speaking a word, the younger lady (presumably, the middle-aged woman's daughter), took off her damp shawl and handed it over to Peter. Her mother surveyed the Inn with pursed lips and her face broke into a frown. The other gentleman- he had to be a clergyman- took of his wide-brimmed hat and cleared his throat.

"May I speak with the Inn-keeper?" he asked as if guilty of breaking the death-like silence.

"Well you're speaking to her." Mrs. Barrow continued cheerfully, "Mrs. Barrow, Inn-keeper of The Poppyrock, How d'you do? Make yourself comfortable."

Leaning close to the merry widow, Mr. Collins whispered something in her ear which caused her to go, "Oh…Oh my goodness..why..yes, I understand..I'll send a note to Mr. Higgins immediately."

Note: Yes my updating is very irregular as I've been covered up to my eyeballs with essays to write….nywys,I might have got a bit carried away with the plot line here hehe…..but pls review!