Page 85 of Fire Must Burn

He grinned and lifted his glass in appreciation.

Iris paid for the drinks while the bartender went over to a telephone by the till and dialled a number.

‘What names shall I give them?’ he asked.

‘Mrs Bainbridge and Miss McTague,’ said Gwen. ‘They should be expecting us.’

He waited a moment. Then someone answered.

‘Hello, it’s Stan over at the Three Horseshoes,’ he said. ‘We got a couple of ladies just off the train for you. Mrs Bainbridge and Miss McTague. Very good.’

He hung up.

‘They’re sending a cart over,’ he said. ‘Should be half an hour.’

‘Thank you,’ said Iris.

They carried their drinks and suitcases over to an empty table.

‘Did he say cart or car?’ asked Iris.

‘Cart,’ said Gwen.

‘Oh dear.’

‘You staying long?’ asked one of the men hopefully.

‘Just a couple of days,’ said Gwen.

‘You know, long enough to get the coven together, dancearound the bonfire at midnight and make offerings to the Goddess,’ added Iris.

‘Now, don’t get upset by Tom’s little joke,’ said the man. ‘Dorty’s all right. She just likes to keep to herself when she’s not running things there.’

‘I hear it’s nice out there,’ added another. ‘A good place to go when you want to be nowhere at all. But if you’re looking for something more lively, there’s a band coming in here tomorrow night. There’ll be dancing.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Gwen. ‘No promises.’

The door opened some twenty minutes later, and a young man poked his head in.

‘Are the ladies for Dorter’s Inn here?’ he asked.

‘That’s us,’ said Gwen.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said. ‘I’m Timothy. I’ve come to take you to the inn. Are those your bags?’

‘They are.’

He grabbed them, then held the door for the ladies. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen, but he was tall and lanky with a thin face and nose.

There was a one-horse trap waiting for them outside. He lifted the rear bench up and placed the suitcases in a compartment under it, then closed it and helped each of them up.

‘Hang on tight,’ he advised them as he climbed onto his seat. ‘Barney’s feeling frisky today.’

‘How far is it?’ asked Gwen.

‘A mile and a half,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t take us more than ten minutes.’

He guided the cart to a central circle from which several streets radiated, and took the next spoke out. The houses were almost all built from the same light-hued stone that made up the walls of the Three Horseshoes, with the rare brick building occasionally interrupting the pattern. The buildings quickly gave way to fields as they reached the outskirts of the town.