The Death of Sir Martin Malprelate by Adam Roberts

Author:Adam Roberts
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781915523082
Publisher: Watkins Media
Published: 2023-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

QUEEN LUDD

1

By the time the two men walked over the flintstone bridge into Ladbroke it was time for luncheon, of which they partook at an inn named The Bell. Service was not prompt, and the landlady confessed that she rarely saw custom from the stagecoach passage. “Usual, sirs, the coach but rattles through,” she announced, as she set two tankards down on the table with such delicacy it seemed she thought the pewter were filigree. “They generally stop at Banbury, as I understand it.”

“The coach broke down, upon the road,” Holmes told her. “We have had to walk here. But tell me, good woman: where might we hire a gig, or failing that two horses, to continue our journey?”

“It might be Farmer Simpson’ll hire you a hoss,” said the woman. “But how would he get it back again?”

“I fear one horse would not suffice. We are two men of substantial stature. Is there no carriage?”

“The coach don’t stop here,” said the woman. “Carts come through.”

“Carts?”

“Taking coke stone to the pottery, most.”

“If we are to ride on a commercial cart, Aster,” said Holmes, “we might as well walk. How long would it take to walk to Oxford, my good lady?”

“Strong step, long legs,” said the lady, eyeing the two of them. “You could be there be nightfall, if you strike out.”

“I propose we take refreshment here, and then set out again. If our progress is slow, we can stop at Banbury – there will surely be a greater chance of conveyance there. But if we manage a better lick we could sleep tonight in Oxford and take the gig from there to Reading, where the railway will transport us the rest of the way.”

“Railway!” said the landlady, dismissively. “They say they’re building a railway-road from Middlemarch, down which those great fire-machines will roll, day and night.”

“They say,” Aster observed, “correctly.”

“It’s not coming down this way,” the woman said, with some emphasis. “I’m glad to say. We don’t need it. The line is running full many miles east of here, methinks.”

“Youthinks right,” said Aster. “Might we have our luncheon?”

“I am fetching it, fetching it,” insisted the woman, settling herself into a chair by the door and wiping her face all over with a handkerchief. “They wouldn’t dare, you see.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Holmes asked.

“Dare what?” asked Aster.

“Dare bring that steel turnpike down these parts. We still have Queen Ludd in this shire– though other portions of the land have given her up. But she scares away the railwaymen, at very least, though she couldn’t stop them making the pottery, and that has scarred the land somewhat. But at least there’s work –work for honest men – in those manufactories.”

“Is there, perhaps, work for an honest tap-woman, here, and now?” Holmes suggested. “As it might be, serving us luncheon?”

“Madam,” said Aster, his temper aroused. “I must inform you that I work for the railway company that is driving its line from Middlemarch down to London, and consider your comments insulting.”

The pot-woman’s eyes grew very wide.

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