Morgan’s face was still patched yellow and white at the corners of the mouth. The landlady, against all her intentions, softened. ‘Poor little soul!’ she said. She tied another knot in the string of the blue striped apron that she wore, as though her hands must be doing something to contribute to the general atmosphere of haste and flurry. ‘Poor little soul! Well, now, what can I do? What with the pies and one thing and another! The only thing I can do is to put the man in the front room along with Mr Prowse at the back; but I must say I don’t like disturbing Mr Prowse, the number of fairs he’s been with me. Comes regular, he does . . . you can look for him like the swallows. Still, he’s a nice man: a very nice man, and if I told him all about it I don’t think he’d stand in your way. Come along, my dear!’
The last words were addressed to Mary, whose hand Morgan was clutching convulsively as though he still felt the train swinging under his feet. They all entered a room on the left of the doorway. In it were two long tables spread with coarse linen cloths of a gleaming whiteness and laden with a series of boiled hams crisped with golden bread-crumbs, and gigantic pies whose crusts were of the same rich hue. Loaves of white bread stood between them, and at the head of each table a leaning tower of plates. At the other end of the room a barrel of cider had been propped upon two bottle-boxes.
Even Morgan’s revolted stomach could not resist the inspiration of seeing so much food. In a hushed voice he asked Mary what was inside the pies.
‘Inside of them, my love?’ cooed the landlady. ‘There’s bunny rabbits inside of them, and lovely pieces of bacon in a jelly that would stand by itself. You’ll see what’s inside of them soon!’ She laughed happily and then, tying another knot in her apron-string, explained to Mary that the rabbit pies of the Harley Arms were an institution on the eve of Bron Fair. ‘We used to make as many as thirty of them,’ she said, ‘but the fair’s not what it was in those days. Still, they must have their pies. They’d drop down dead if they came into the room and never see them! There they are, waiting ready for them: pies and ham and bread and cider, and they helps themselves. We’re too busy to look after them. They takes what they want, and pays the same whether its much or little. That’s the custom, you see.’
By this time the concentration of rich smells had overcome Morgan’s interest. ‘I want to lie down, mam,’ he said, and Mary stopped the landlady in a flood of reminiscence to inquire again about their room before disaster came.
‘Well, now,’ she said in a more kindly, mysterious voice. ‘I’ll tell you what do. I’ll put you in Mr Prowse’s room without asking him. That’s the best way. If you’re there, you’re there, and that’s the end of it. You can put the little girl on the sofa and the little boy can sleep in between the two of you. ’Tis a fine, old-fashioned bed. A family bed, as the saying is.’
Abner saw Mary go red. He came quickly to the rescue.
‘We’re not man and wife, missus,’ he said.
‘What! You’re not a married couple? That’s different altogether,’ said the landlady, her tone hardening.
‘This young man only came along with me to help me with the children,’ Mary explained.