coins.”
* * * * *
The trouble
began, as usual, in an alehouse. As she considered what had happened later,
Ruby blamed the alehouse.
Clink had
quickly caught her up and they crammed food into their mouths as they hurried
along. When not eating, they congratulated each other and chuckled over their
success. There was still plenty left for the Sad Mort and the Frog and when
they found them, they discovered that the Frog had caught and cooked a
pheasant. This was life; famine turned to feast and they made the most of it
while they could. They decided to make camp for a day or two and found a
suitable spot in the middle of a wood with some running water nearby. As they
knelt by the fire or sat on the grass whilst the men lay about smoking, Ruby
and Moll talked about Moll’s kinchins - her children - and wondered whether
they would meet up soon with Doll, who was looking after them.
Moll was
often without her children because she could not bear to be separated from the
Jingler for too long. The Jingler was a restless rover, always on the move as
he searched out opportunities. He acknowledged his children by Moll and
tolerated their company when he and Moll were together, but that was not often.
Not often enough for Moll. Ruby, full of food, enjoyed the sun, the soft grass,
the wind on her face and the brief respite from the hard slog of life on the
road. She scarcely listened to what Moll was saying, simply nodding and
agreeing at intervals. She had heard it all before anyway. The Jingler’ll never
change, she thought, but she kept that thought to herself.
Clink sat
up suddenly.
“Thirst’s
got a hold on me,” he said. Ruby knew what he meant. She offered him some
water from a bottle that they carried with them. He refused. “Salt cheese
and bacon; always goes down better with ale, eh?” Ruby knew that, in this
mood, nothing would do for him but ale. Something, some foreknowledge, made her
offer to go with him when he said he would go to find an alehouse. They scraped
together the few farthings they had, augmented by the two that Ruby had been
given, and she and Clink set off down a different lane from the one that led to
the farmhouse. The Frog and Moll followed slowly on behind.
It didn’t
take them long to find a wayside cottage that would sell them some ale. Clink
said he would bring some out for them all and Ruby waited a little way off on a
broken down wall, swinging her heels and wondering if she would find some new
shoes - stampers, they called them - to wear when they got to Marcaster. Her
shoes were broken down, like the wall, she thought. Clink was taking his time,
but she had expected that. He wouldn’t come out until the money had gone and
he’d make it stretch as far as he could, but he wouldn’t forget the others.
He’d bring something out for ‘em, thought Ruby. Full and happy, she began to
sing under her breath.
It took
Clink a while to adjust to the darkness inside the alehouse and so he scarcely
noticed that one of the drinkers had taken a good look at him before slipping
out of another door. The Frog, with his greater sensitivity to danger, would
have been out of there in an instant. Clink settled onto a bench with a sigh
and took a long, long drink. It was good. Cool and flavoursome. He wondered
what they used to make it taste so good and then decided that it was probably
his thirst. He was still sitting there, blissfully content, when the local
constable and two other men walked in and seized him. The galling thing was, he
hadn’t finished his drink.
Ruby,
sitting on the broken wall in the sun, was suddenly aware of a disturbance at
the front of the alehouse. She hoped Clink hadn’t got into a fight - or worse,
tried to cut a purse. That’s what had got them into trouble the last time. The
rickety door of the alehouse burst open and Clink was pushed out into the lane.
Ruby instantly dropped down behind the wall. Her eyes widened as she peeped
over