‘Most like he be,’ said Drew, slowly regaining his breath and leaning on the doorpost. ‘I’ve been a driving they bullocks to Llandwlas station.’
She looked at the clock. It was a little earlier than Abner’s usual hour of return.
‘Better wait if you want him. Take a seat, Mr Drew. He’ll be back in a few minutes.’
‘You must stop ’en . . . you must stop ’en!’ said the old man impressively. ‘If he come down over the field I shall meet ’en myself. But often he do come by the road. You must send some one to stop ’en that way.’
‘Stop him? What do you mean?’ she cried.
‘You must stop ’en. Your George be coming up from the Buffalo, mad with the drink. You must stop Abner. Keep him away, or there’ll be murder done, sure ‘nuff! Murder! You take my word for it!’
‘How can I stop him? What can I do, Mr Drew?’ she cried.
‘Go yourself, missus. Or send Mrs Mamble. Her’ll run along for ’ee.’
‘No. I must wait for George,’ she said.
An inspiration came to her. She took a piece of paper and scribbled a note to Abner, telling him that George was coming, begging him, for her sake, to keep out of the way until she had seen him. Then she called upstairs: ‘Gladys!’ and the child came down with her hair plaited for the night.