Chapter 31

It was almost midnight, closing time, and the sky had darkened into full night. Plumes of white smoke from a nearby works obscured the stars that would be visible at home. They were there, just the same. Silas gathered skittles and balls from the pub’s garden and stacked them in the snug. He picked up six tankards with a practised ease and deposited them on the bar.

Job done.

He sighed, desperate for the night to pass so he could return to Harriet’s side, to apologise, to make it right with her uncle. He clung to the idea there was still hope as fiercely as he’d clung to the lamp-post in the torrent. She had saved him then. She would not desert him now.

He’d engineered this disaster, there was no doubt. He should not have kissed her. It had been a wonderful kiss. He was stupid, impulsive, acting like he was back at the farm, trying to catch hold of one of the country girls. No better than an animal. Silas chewed his lower lip, and flinched. The skin was torn where Walter’s ring had caught it and now he’d set it bleeding again. He blotted the blood on the sleeve of his shirt.

‘Come on then, auld Syd,’ he said to the white-haired man who was sitting on a stool in the corner, hiding in the shadows. ‘Don’t be thinking Elsie won’t spot thee. Get thee cap on. Home time.’

He heard Elsie Broomhead’s tread on the wooden stairs that led up from the cellar. ‘She’s comin’, Syd. Up tha gets.’

The old man muttered under his breath but managed to find his feet, swaying a little on the spot before shuffling towards the door.

‘Your ’at!’ Silas put the man’s cap in his hands. ‘It’s parky out tonight.’

He reached past Syd to unlatch the door and watched him weave down the street before closing the door and bolting it. When he turned, the landlady of the King’s Arms was wiping the counter down. She eyed him knowingly. He knew she’d clocked his swollen lip earlier, but she had said nothing about it. He wondered whether he ought to tell her.

‘You’ve had a mardy face on you all night, Silas. Have you been in a fight? Over this girl you’re sweet on? Has she told you to sling yer hook?’

‘What girl’s that then?’ But he couldn’t keep the pretence up. ‘It’s not her,’ he admitted, leaning on the bar. ‘It’s her uncle. I’m not good enough.’ He sighed. ‘An’ it’s as simple as that. I went to see him, tha knows, to show him. I wanted to do it proper, make sure he knows I’m not after his money or owt. I went in there and made it ten times worse for meself. I’m a daft sod.’

‘No, Silas, you’re not daft. Here.’ She poured two glasses of whisky and handed one over. ‘What happened?’

‘Well…’ He felt the blush rising and bent his head to sip the whisky. It stung the wound on his lip, but it was not the blow from Walter he thought of. ‘I did give her a kiss.’