the farm labourers?’
The parson shook his head. ‘They’ve never been to church, I’m afraid, and I don’t think I’ve seen them in town either. They keep to themselves.’
Sarah pushed open the door and began to lay the table for soup.
‘How’s your sister, Sarah?’ asked the guvnor.
She shook her head. ‘Not long now, sir,’ she said, so low it was hard to make out. It must have distracted her, for as she lifted the soup tureen from the tray she stumbled. Sprice-Hogg let out a shriek as it fell on its side on the table, its lid off, the soup pouring out over the napkins and cutlery.
‘Useless heifer!’ he barked, raising his arm as if to strike her. Sarah flinched, covering her face, but he checked his hand, lowering it slowly to the table.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said, again and again, trying to mop it up with her pinafore. She began to cry.
‘You are a singularly stupid girl,’ muttered the parson, sitting watching her from his chair. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that blue streak last week either.’
‘It wasn’t her fault, Bill,’ said the guvnor, kneeling to clear the floor with a napkin. ‘Her skirt snagged on a nail.’
The parson glared at her; she kept her eyes down, sniffing, scraping the thick soup from the table onto the tray. Finally, she turned and hurried from the room.
‘Have a seat, gentlemen,’ said Sprice-Hogg, the irritation still in his voice. ‘At least there’s enough for half a bowl each.’
When we’d eaten, the parson brought over the decanter of port. After two more glasses, the guvnor shook his head.
‘We’ve work to do this evening, my friend.’
The parson’s face fell.
‘Please, indulge me, William. It’s an excellent barrel. And I’m eager to hear if you enjoyed my book.’
‘I haven’t had a chance to read it yet, though I’m looking forward to it very much. But now we must go and see if we can find Godwin. I’m hoping he’ll be more approachable with a few drinks in him.’
‘Just one more? For friendship sake?’
‘We cannot.’
‘Of course,’ agreed the parson, putting the stopper back on the decanter. He looked at the ruby liquid as the flame from the lamp played on it and sighed. ‘We did enjoy ourselves the other night, didn’t we?’
The pub fell silent as we came through the door. It was packed out: the three old blokes who never seemed to leave were there, the fellow with the wizened grandmother, Skulky, Edgar, and twelve or thirteen others, all of them red-faced in the close heat of the fire. Under one of the tables slept a baby in a wooden box, a bottle of Dalby’s Calmative in her hand; a girl of four or five smoked her ma’s pipe by the fire. Even Root was standing at the counter, his eyes half-closed.
Godwin sat in the corner next to the lady he was having a shunt at before. He was the only one in that baking hot pub with his jacket on and was suffering from it: his brow was damp, his neck out in blotches. He scowled at us as we found a couple of empty seats by the door.
‘Thought you said you chased these two off, Godwin!’ cried the coalman, a great Welsh bloke with a glass eye that shone out of the grime of his ruined face.
‘What’d you do, wave your flipper at them?’ called one of the old blokes from across the room. A great peal of laughter arose.
Godwin looked away, taking a long draw of his tankard. He whispered to the woman, who nodded and patted his knee.
I got us some drinks. The landlady was half-cut: she moved about like she had two wooden legs and now and then let out a growling burp into the great hubbub of the drinkers. The old dog staggered over to me very slow, his legs shaking, his eye gunked like a smashed-up egg. I pushed him away toward the little girl, who made a grab for his fur.
We sat there in the noise, watching them all drink and shout, spending their wages, baked by the blazing fire and the heat of their chat.
‘My Lord, this is a drunken pub,’ said the guvnor at last. I could tell he was uneasy by Skulky and Edgar being there, so sure was he that they’d been about to rob us the other night. They stood by the skittles table in their checked shirts and waistcoats. Their beards were wilder and bushier than any other, and it seemed to give them a level above the other men. Next to them was a short bloke in a moleskin jacket and a battered bowler: Weavil, I guessed. They were watching us, whispering.
Root staggered past, his helmet crooked, and fell out the door.
As I supped my porter, a cockle shell hit me in the brow and dropped onto the floor; a laugh went up from the other side of the room where three butchers sat with a couple of women in aprons.
The guvnor went to the counter and ordered drinks for Godwin and his lover. He paid and came back to sit with me, while the landlady squeezed out from the counter and thumped a tankard and a mug on Godwin’s table. She pointed at us and burbled something to him.
‘I’ll buy my own drinks, Arrowood,’ called Godwin across the room, pouring the beer into an ash bucket on the floor. His lady didn’t want him to take the gin, but he got it off her and did the same. It was clear he’d had a few already.
Some of the punters turned to watch.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Mr Ockwell,’ said the guvnor. ‘I haven’t come to cause any trouble.’
‘You’re a bloody nuisance, you two,’ snarled Godwin. ‘You sent the parson to examine us. You accused us to the police. You’ve been asking questions in here. You found nothing against us and now here you are again dogging me. So how about you just finish your drinks and leave? There’s no one wants you in here.’
‘I wanted to apologize, that’s all, sir,’ said the guvnor. ‘Let me buy you and your friend a meal, how about that?’
‘Leave!’ cried Godwin, slamming his fist on the table. Everyone there, even the baby, was watching him now. ‘Go on. Hook it!’
We didn’t move. He glared at us for a moment, then hunched in towards the lady and they started to talk again. As they did, he glanced over at the other punters. His cap came off, his hand travelled over his bald head. The cap went back on again.
Soon the old men took up their dominoes. The grandma and her bloke turned back to the fire and stared at the flames, their heads drooping. The coalman said something to the butchers. They laughed. The talk got louder, the men vying with each other to be heard. The two women in aprons, their arms around each other, looked on with broad smiles. We watched it all for a while longer, the guvnor chewing his lip, thinking hard. Finally, he leant over.
‘Look at him,’ he whispered. ‘How he hides that lazy arm in his jacket. The two of them sit on their own while all the rest are enjoying each other’s company. See how he keeps looking over at them?’
He gazed
