It was just past 6:00 p.m., but Marsden was already deathly silent. There was no one on the streets and the shops had shut for the day. Robin walked up the street, expecting to see some sign of life somewhere. He passed the clock tower, seeing a crossroads but deciding to keep going straight, and kept going up the road, finally hearing a gentle thrum of noise coming from somewhere.

As he passed a post office and another charity shop, there was a break in the buildings, and he found what he was looking for. Set back slightly, it was the largest pub he had seen yet, although the outer decor matched every other pub he’d found in Marsden. A cream building with black siding and a sign with gold lettering. The Hamlet. The sign jostling gently in the wind had a man in a puffy Shakespearean collar holding a skull. The windows and open door streamed light out of them and the sound of laughing and conversation washed out into the street.

Robin headed inside.

Chapter Seven

The Hamlet was thriving. He came through the door to find a quaint bar area, unmistakably British with its rich mahogany furniture and country decor. Paintings of men on horses galloping after foxes hung on the walls. It seemed like all the people absent from the streets outside were in The Hamlet. It was packed with people sitting at the tables and propped up against the bar. The whole place had a warm glow, friendly and inviting. There was a steady noise of chatter, punctuated every so often with a hearty laugh.

As Robin stood in the doorway, a few people looked up from their conversations. They smiled at him, and as he looked over to the bar, a man with a purple nose and rosy cheeks tipped his pint and smiled. Robin smiled back, a reflex he usually suppressed in London. But something about The Hamlet screamed safety, a real home away from home. The man took a deep sip from his pint and turned back.

Behind the bar, a young woman dressed in black, with her brown hair tied up in a bun, was smiling and laughing with a man at the end of the bar as she poured a glass of white wine. Robin stepped forward, leaning against the bar, next to the smiling man.

When the young woman had finished taking money for the wine, she came over. “What’ll it be?”

“A Coke, please. And I was hoping to get some food. Are there any more tables?”

“Downstairs, there’s a few,” she said. “I’ll get your drink.”