The innkeeper smiled knowingly. ‘I see. Been naughty, ’ave yer?’ He gave a sly little wink. ‘Got a bit o’ fluff on the side, ’ave yer?’

Tom laughed out loud, but it was a sad sound. ‘Who’d want me? Naw. I want no other women. Not when I’ve already got one of the best.’ He bowed his head. ‘Trouble is, I don’t deserve her.’

‘Seems to me you’re luckier than most. Go on, get off home to her, you bloody fool, afore some other gent tries to steal her away.’

‘She wouldn’t even look at another gent.’ His mood darkened. ‘Besides, if she did, I’d probably slay her alive – him too.’ The thought of Bridget with another man turned his soul inside out. He was no lover of violence, but just thinking about it brought murder to his mind.

‘Get off home, I say.’ Impatient to be rid of him, the innkeeper made his way round the counter. ‘I’m shutting shop now.’

‘She can wait!’

‘Oh, aye, an’ what about yer kids? The poor little buggers will be wondering where their daddy’s got to.’ He reached into a jar of liquorice sticks and pulled out a handful. ‘’Ere, they’ll enjoy these. Take ’em with my compliments.’ When Tom grabbed his wrist, he drew back, startled. ‘I meant no offence, matey. Pay for ’em if it worries you that much.’

‘Bugger you, and bugger your charity. I don’t need it! What’s more, there are no bloody kids waiting back home, d’you understand?’ He laughed insanely. ‘No kids, and not likely to be!’

The landlord was relieved. For a moment he’d thought he was in for a beating. ‘No kids? That ain’t nothing to worry about,’ he quipped. ‘Me? I’ve got more than enough. If you were to steal a couple of ’em right from under me nose, I don’t suppose I’d even notice.’

Tom looked at him with scorn. ‘Then you’re a bigger bloody fool than you look.’ He drained his whisky, slammed the glass down on the counter, and moved towards the door.

Now it was the turn of the landlord to do the grabbing, and he did, with some considerable force. ‘That’ll be two bob. Cough up quick and then clear off, before I call the bobbies.’

Dipping into his waistcoat, Tom threw the coins across the counter, then departed without another word.

‘And good riddance to yer!’ Bolting the door behind him, the landlord went up the stairs two at a time, into the bedroom, where his fat, idle wife was waiting, arms open, to welcome him.

Not so, Bridget.

She waited up until she could hardly keep her eyes open, then she tidied the kitchen and left a cheese sandwich between two plates in the centre of the table. ‘It isn’t much of an offering,’ she sighed, ‘not compared to that wonderful meal.’ But the meal was thrown away, and she had no intention of cooking anything else tonight. So, with a sorry heart, she went to her bed.