“Oh, of course. I’ll speak to one of the men and have them seen to. I noticed the landlord as I came in.”
They turned to look at the three men by the table. The men were all staring at them and talking together in low voices. One of them now rose and came forward. He wore a leather apron tied around his middle and walked with a decided limp.
“Job Townsend’s daughter, ain’t you?” he demanded of Sally Rose. “Visit kin in Newburyport on occasion?”
Sally Rose smiled and dimpled. “Why, how clever of you to remember me! Of course I’m Job Townsend’s daughter,” she said. “And I’m on my way home from Newburyport right now. I’ve often told my cousin Kitty here, about your tavern—there isn’t a better one in the whole of Essex County.”
Strangely enough, the landlord was not smiling at Sally Rose, and he ignored her compliment.
“We had a young fellow here a short time back. A young fellow who said he hung around the Bay and Beagle some.”
He waited, his face expressionless, for Sally Rose to speak. In the silence Kitty heard the rattle of dishes from the kitchen. She caught the delicious odor of roast meat, the tang of crushed mint leaves.
Sally Rose’s smile grew no whit dimmer. “We’ve many young fellows who hang around the Bay and Beagle,” she said. “My dad would go poor, if we didn’t. They keep the till full. Did he tell you his name?”
The landlord spoke accusingly. “He said his name was Gerry Malory. He said he was going to Newburyport to see a girl.”
Sally Rose shrugged her graceful shoulders. “Plenty of girls in Newburyport,” she said.