Page 84 of Fire Must Burn

‘I’m a city girl, forgive me. Fine, we’ll visit the tithe barn. But you have to go beetling with me in exchange. That’s my cover story for the expedition.’

‘Speaking of which, I made the reservation under Mrs Bainbridge and companion,’ said Gwen. ‘I wasn’t sure if you wanted her to recognise your name.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Iris. ‘She only met me the one time, and it was over eleven years ago. But it was a memorable occasion.’

‘I doubt that you’ve changed in appearance that much since you were eighteen.’

‘That is very kind of you,’ said Iris. ‘I always think I can still pass for a teenager until I meet actual teenagers and realise what war and the ravages of time have done to me.’

‘Wait until you experience motherhood,’ said Gwen. ‘What name will you be using?’

‘I’ll go with Mary McTague,’ said Iris, pulling a pair of black-rimmed glasses from her bag and donning them. ‘I still carry that ID for special occasions. That way, Mrs Dorter won’t have advance notice of my presence until we come face to face.That should give me some advantage, and maybe the spectacles will throw her off.’

‘Very well, Mary,’ said Gwen, settling back in her seat. ‘I am going to continue to study up on Bradford-on-Avon. I’ll leave the beetles to you.’

The trip from Paddington took some three and a half hours with a change to a local train that stopped at a station in the part of the town south of the river. When they got off the train, Gwen consulted her directions.

‘It says we need to go to an establishment called the Three Horseshoes on Frome Road,’ she said. ‘There’s a telephone there from which we can ring the inn to send someone to pick us up.’

‘Is there a pub inside where we can purchase refreshments while we wait?’ asked Iris hopefully.

‘There will always be a pub so long as there is an England,’ said Gwen, picking up her suitcase. ‘Shall we?’

The Three Horseshoes was a two-storey stone building with a black tiled roof. There was a gas street light in front, not yet lit. They went inside to find a low-ceilinged room with walls of thick, irregular stones, exposed beams running overhead and smaller rooms off to each side. There were a few tables, mostly occupied by older men smoking pipes or quaffing pints. They took in the sight of the two women appearing in their midst with interest.

There was a small, rectangular bar at the rear of the room with casks of beer and ale behind it, a red and white shield on the wall over them withUsher’s of Trowbridge–Fine Alesemblazoned upon it. The bartender looked them over expectantly as they approached.

‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ he said. ‘Welcome to Bradford. Something to wet down the dust?’

‘What’s available?’ asked Iris.

‘Do you know Usher’s?’ he asked.

‘No, but I’m ready to learn,’ she replied.

‘We have golden ale, bitter ale and oatmeal stout,’ he said.

‘And do I spy some fizzy lemonade over there?’ asked Gwen.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said.

‘One of those, please.’

‘I’ll have a bitter,’ said Iris. ‘A half-pint, please.’

‘Where are you staying?’ he asked as he drew a half-pint of the ale, then opened a bottle of the lemonade and placed the drinks in front of them.

‘At Dorter’s Inn,’ said Gwen. ‘I was told that you could ring them to come pick us up.’

‘You’re staying at Dorty’s place?’ called a man seated at a nearby table.

‘We are,’ said Gwen, turning to face him.

‘That’s funny,’ he said. ‘You don’t look like witches.’

The men with him broke out into laughter. Gwen looked at them and smiled sweetly.

‘The last man who said something like that to me is living quite happily on a lily pad now,’ she said to the man. ‘You have been warned, sir.’