Ben had no idea how to answer that. He had no idea where Jonah’s wanderings had taken him before Berkhamsted. More, Jonah had never spoken about his family. Ben had asked once or twice, but Jonah’s answers had not been the kind that invited more questions. We fell out, he’d said, and since he’d said it with his hand on Ben’s cock, it had seemed obvious why.
Ben very much didn’t want a conversation about where they were going, or why he and Jonah were travelling together. Apart from anything else, he was sure that Jonah’s ready tongue had answered questions already, and that his answers wouldn’t match. “Show me how this arm fixes, now?”
They were hard at work in silence punctuated with Mrs. Linney’s brusque instructions when Bethany poked her head round the door.
“Ma…”
“Deal with it yourself,” Mrs. Linney said without looking up. “Busy.”
“But, Ma.”
A metal arm fell out of place, banging Mrs. Linney’s thumb. “Blast it! Later, Bethy.”
Bethany retreated with an irritated swish of skirts, shutting the heavy oak door with a thump that was close to a slam. Ben thought no more of it. The pump machinery was heavy and intricate but it made satisfactory sense, and he liked Mrs. Linney’s definite, unhesitant way of working.
“Good,” she said at last. “That’ll hold now. Thank you.”
“Pleasure. What’s next?”
“You’ve an appetite for work, ain’t you?”
“Seems fair. You’re feeding us well and it’s a comfortable”—don’t say bed, don’t say bed—“room. It’s the least we can do.”
“Well, there’s always more work here,” Mrs. Linney said. “Though what I want to know—”
Bethany pushed the door wide. A wave of chatter and laughter rolled into the kitchen with her.
“Just to tell you, Ma,” she remarked airily, planting a tray of tankards on the table. “We’ve had customers in the bar for a good half hour now.”
Mrs. Linney shot up from the floor with more haste than grace and headed through to the bar at something close to a run. Ben was close on her heels, cursing himself. They should not have left the place untended, with only a young woman in charge. He hoped the cashbox was still there.
They both stopped at the door, because Jonah was tending the bar.
A group of men filled the seats, unfamiliar faces, travellers escaping the driving rain. Bethany moved among them, serving drinks, face aglow. Jonah leaned on the heavy oak bar as if he owned it, eyes bright, reaching the climax of what was all too obviously an off-colour story.
“…like a rabbit, and she said, ‘Well, that’s what the stick was for.’”
There was an explosion of laughter, ringing off the walls. Hands lifted for more ale. Jonah looked round, still smiling, and caught Mrs. Linney’s stunned gaze. He lifted a finger to hold the customers off, strolled over and said, quietly, “They’ll all stay for a meal if you can feed them. I’ll swear to it.”
Mrs. Linney blinked twice and whisked back to the kitchen without a word. Jonah glanced after her, then at Ben. “Well, make yourself useful. How are you at pulling ale?”
Ben didn’t know how to do that, nor could he keep up a stream of cheerful banter and ribald stories that persuaded the crowd to stay for just one more, but he could carry trays as well as Bethany could, and his square-shouldered presence was useful when a young man’s third mug of strong home-brewed proved too much for him. He had barely got his arm around Bethany’s waist when Ben was tapping him on the shoulder with a kind but firm, “None of that, sir.” The young man started a protest, took in Ben’s uncompromising expression, flushed and let go. Ben moved away, point made, as Jonah chimed in with “Did you hear the one…” to make sure the atmosphere didn’t drop off.
“Highest takings in months,” Mrs. Linney said that evening, with immense satisfaction. Apparently some of the passing trade had been passing down to Pellore, because there had been a few more faces than usual in the bar that evening, looking with curiosity at the new barman. Ben had to give her credit: once it was apparent that Jonah could pull a pint and count money, and do both with an irresistible cheerfulness that brought responsive smiles even to the leathery faces of the fishermen, she had been quite ready to let him get on. He was, Ben thought with an absurd glow of pride, a natural at it. “Well. I owe you thanks, Jonah Pastern.”
“Not at all. I enjoyed it. Better than all that hard work Ben likes.”
“The pair of you have more than earned your stay,” Mrs. Linney said. “I’m grateful, and I’m shamed not to pay you for all you’ve done, but—”
“No need.” Jonah gave her a boyishly wheedling look. “Although if you could spare me a little time tomorrow…”
“What do you want to do tomorrow?” Ben asked as they retired to the room that night.
“A few things.” Jonah must have read his face at the evasion. “I need to go to a shop, for heaven’s sake. That’s all. I want a razor and some drawers that didn’t belong to a dead man, don’t you?”
“We don’t have any money.”
“I’ve got a bit left. Don’t fret.”