‘There’s always fun and games when I have these lots in. The mouthy ones are not too bad, but that bugger in the corner, sitting by himself, he’s got a nasty temper on him and his liking of gin doesn’t help him,’ Ernest said, nodding his head in the direction of Thomas as he poured Adam his gill from a jug that he kept under the counter.
‘Yes, he looks black in mood, scowling away at the lads near the bar,’ Adam said as he handed Ernest his tuppence for his gill.
‘Aye, the trouble is they take great delight in winding him up, the silly buggers. It often ends in a fight and I’ve to throw the lot of them out.’ Ernest grinned and went and leaned on the opposite bar to keep an eye on his over-zealous customers.
‘Hey, Alex, I saw that lass from the flay-pits making eyes at you on Sunday in church. She’s yours for the taking, I’d say, by the looks of her,’ one of the lads from the quarry said loudly to his best friend and slapped him on the back, while the rest of the group laughed and jibed at Alex’s expense.
‘I could have her any day. Just imagine her lying on a bed, whispering for me to satisfy her, that long blonde hair and those blue eyes begging me to do what I’ve been wanting to do for weeks now.’ Alex swigged his ale back and looked at all his mates, and saw how envious they were of his imaginary conquest.
Thomas Farrington looked over at the group and scowled. It was the drink that was talking, but they were talking about his Lucy. They’d no right to talk about her in such a way. He felt his blood boiling as he jumped to his feet and walked to the bar. He’d wanted her for so long, and didn’t they know that she was to be his, no matter who she flirted with.
‘You shut your mouth, do you hear? I’ll not have Lucy talked about like that in here. Besides, she’s to marry me, so you needn’t even look at her, you bastard,’ Thomas yelled at Alex and stood just a few inches from his face. ‘You get your hands off her – she’s to be mine.’
‘Give over, she’d never marry you – look at you. You are filthier than the rats that scuttle around that yard you work in. Now piss off and go back to your corner.’ Alex turned his back on Thomas and looked at his group of friends, who slapped him on his back and jeered.
Thomas wasn’t having any of it. Lucy Bancroft was his, and he’d prove it. He reached for his inside pocket, where his knife for skinning hides was, and pulled it out and stood his ground. He’d make Alex Braithwaite not fit to look at, by the time he’d used his skills with his knife.
‘Alex, he’s got a knife – the bastard’s pulled a knife on you.’ His friends stepped back and watched as Alex turned and looked at the man who had taken his jibes all too seriously.
‘Put that down, you idiot. You can punch me, but I’m not fighting you with a knife in your hand.’ Alex looked at the wild-eyed man who stood in front of him.
‘Aye, put the knife down, lad. We’ll have none of that in my pub.’ Ernest Shepherd lifted the bar hatch and stood next to Alex, while Adam put his gill down on the table and walked round to the next room, standing in the doorway.
‘No, you’ve insulted me one too many times, and I’ll not have Lucy talked about in that way. She’s mine, do you hear? And you are going to pay for your words.’ Thomas lunged forward, his hand outstretched, with the knife pointing at Alex. But Ernest was too quick for him and pushed Thomas hard to one side, making him fall and lose his balance. His body fell heavily onto the flagged floor of the inn, and his head hit the firedog and the sandstone hearth of the fireside, spilling blood onto the sandy-coloured stone and making everyone gasp as the pool of blood trickled around the lifeless form, and the knife lay a few inches from his hand.
‘Is he dead?’ Alex Braithwaite whispered as Ernest stood over the body.
‘I don’t know. I just wanted to stop him – I didn’t mean to kill him.’ Ernest looked fear-stricken.
Adam pushed his way through both sets of young men and bent down to feel the pulse on Thomas’s body. He looked up at the worried faces and shook his head, as he wiped his fingers clear of the blood upon them. ‘Aye, I dare say he’s gone. One of you go for the peeler down in Cullingworth. They’ll need to be informed about what’s gone on here tonight.’ He stood up and looked around him. ‘Nobody was to blame – he pulled the knife. I saw it all, and I used to serve in the police around here, so there should be no repercussions.’ Adam looked at the innkeeper, whose face was ashen. In his head Adam replayed the words said by the now-dead Thomas; why had he said he was to marry Lucy? She hated the man and she’d probably rejoice at the news of his death, her loathing and fear of him had been that deep. There was more to this than met the eye.
‘I didn’t mean to kill the bugger, just stop him!’ Ernest muttered. ‘He always was a bad lot, but I never saw that coming. What possessed him, and what made Thomas think he was to wed that lass of Bancroft’s? She’d not look the side he was on, if she had any sense.’ He shook his head and sat down on one of the chairs, as everyone muttered and whispered and patted him on the back, knowing that if Thomas had not been stopped, it could have led to Alex
