Chapter 2

Abby wandered through into the Lounge, and selected for herself the chair that looked most comfortable. She wondered if she would be expected to eat down here. Normally she would only feel comfortable eating alone in her room, or going out to some anonymous restaurant, where the prospect of others trying to engage her in conversation would be minimal. That concern she set aside as the warmth of the fire cheered her, the day was now almost gone, with a chill setting in. The dog looked up and deciding that there was no point in making a nuisance of himself, got up, turned around a couple of times and then lay down in exactly the position he had been in before. Presently the Landlady bustled in with a tray of tea.

"Ah, there you are." As if expecting that her guest may have decided to go elsewhere. "That dog isn't making a nuisance of himself?" And without waiting for a reply, shouted at the dog. "Gorn, bugger off." The dog raised himself and with the expression so truly described as hang-dog slunk away, no doubt wondering once again at the peculiarity of Humans. "Now I'm sure I've brought anything, yes milk, sugar, and strainer. You enjoy your tea. Oh and here's the book. Perhaps you could fill in the details, no hurry." She bustled away saying, "I'll get your room ready."

Abby sat and pondered the Tea. A strainer! That meant leaf tea. She hadn't used anything but a tea bags for years, in fact she never had. Her mother had used leaf tea when Abby was a little girl. Carefully she lifted the lid on the pot, yes leaf tea. Now should she stir it? Probably a stir would do no harm. She then poured the tea through the strainer; it was a dark rich brown in colour, adding milk, and half a teaspoon of sugar she drank. God! It was wonderful. How could it taste so different? It was a completely different drink to the hurried bag in a cup with hot water poured on that she was used to. She would have a second cup, now that was very unusual. Picking up the book, Abby then filled in the normal details.

There had been no entries since October last year, how do they keep going, she asked herself. She was finishing her second cup, when the Landlady bustled back into the bar.

"All ready for you, Oh good you've signed the book." Picking it up she read Abby's details. "Did you enjoy..." Her voice trailed off as she read Abby's name. "Tregonney, now that's an unusual name. I'm sure someone here has mentioned that name, but I can't recall when, or for why, but that was years ago, I've never heard of anyone else with that name, and you from up London, that's peculiar, do you have any relations hereabouts?" Abby was slightly embarrassed, but agreed with the Landlady.

"I have never heard of anyone with the name, and there's none in the phone book. I believe my family originally came from around here, and I suppose that's one of the reasons I've come down here." The Landlady had her secret conversation with herself and agreed on a conclusion.

"I'll ask Sam when he comes in, he's in his eighties but still knows everything about Combe, every village has got one like Sam, and he'll know if any of your family are still around. Oh I forgot to ask, would you like to eat in your room, or down here?" it took a great effort for Abby to say in none too firm a voice.

"I think I'll eat down here, if that's all right?" The landlady nodded her head in confirmation.

"Now let's get your bag in from your car." she bustled outside with no doubt that Abby would be behind her. Abby got outside to see the Landlady staring contemplatively at her car. She looked up as Abby approached and said. "If you don't mind I'll get Jack to put your car round the back. I wouldn't like any damage to happen while you're here." Abby was taken aback.

"Damage? Here?" The Landlady looked at Abby.

"This may seem like the peaceful and Law-abiding countryside to you, and it is in the main. But we still have some silly devils about." and her head moved jerkily sideways, indicating a direction, which Abby felt may have been in the general direction of the few Council houses, but couldn't be sure. She unlocked the car with the remote control, and flipped up the boot. She had but one case, which she pulled out, only to have it taken off her by the Landlady.

"I'll carry this for you." she stated firmly, "and if you leave the keys with me, Jack will move your car." Abby would have protested, but too late as the other woman had set off briskly back into the Pub. Locking the car Abby followed. The woman was waiting for her by a door at the back of the lounge.

"Do I call you Miss, Mrs, or Ms. Tregonney?" she asked pleasantly.

"Well actually its Miss, but do call me Abby." The smile flashed on the face like a Lighthouse beacon.

"Oh that's good; I can't get on with all these fancy terms now. Please call me Mary, and my Husband's name is Jack, well it isn't, not really, his actual name is Arnold, which he can't stand, so he tells everyone its Jack. Now you watch these stairs." She changed the conversation without taking breath. The door opened to reveal a small lobby. To the left was the back wall to the Bar. This was home to various charts and a large board with cup hooks running down vertically, all the hooks but one had keys hanging from them. Opposite this panel was the stairs and alongside the stairs a hallway, which Abby presumed would lead through to the kitchen. Mary lifted a key off the wall and took the stairs.

"We may have modernised a lot of the facilities, but we cannot change the stairs. Whole place would fall down if we did." Abby could see what she meant; the stairs had undergone a metamorphosis over the years and had been repaired piecemeal. Whilst the general trend was upwards, the risers and steps sloped indifferently to the vertical direction, even at times giving the impression that the climber had stepped downwards instead of upwards. The corridor on the upper floor had obviously suffered the same fate. Abby made forward movements, but the changing angle of the floor sent her bouncing from one wall to the other, much like a Pinball machine. Mary managed without problem, the years of practice enabling her to adjust her balance for each variation, walking the corridor much like a sailor negotiating the deck of a ship in heavy seas. The Bedroom she showed Abby, was in complete contrast.

"Mind the little step," Mary said as she opened the door. Here the floor was flat, and close carpeted. Abby could walk quite normally. She said as much to Mary.

"Well we couldn't have guests crashing around in the middle of the night," Mary replied, "so we had false floor put in. You've come at the right time when it's relatively peaceful, before we get busy, now you get yourself sorted and have a rest, and we'll see you later."

Abby unpacked her bag, hanging her few clothes in the spacious wardrobe, and setting out the contents of her wash-bag in the bathroom. She examined the controls of the shower, and tried them carefully. A spray of freezing cold water, which after a few moments became boiling hot, rewarded her. Adjusting the temperature control seemed to have little immediate effect, but patience finally presented her with a suitable temperature. Leaving it to run she went back into the bedroom and undressed. Feeling considerably refreshed from her shower Abby dressed in slacks and a simple blouse, recognising that the Combe Inn was not a dressy place. She sat for a while and considered the day. Not a bad start, only five minutes in the place and definite confirmation that someone with her family name had lived in the locality, perhaps her mother? Even if that proved to be a red Herring, then she had an old railway to explore, so it would not be a completely wasted journey.

At five past seven she re-entered the Bar, and Mary gave her that engaging broad smile.

"I've set a place for you close to the fire, would you like a drink first?"

"That would be good; could I have a White Wine Spritzer please?" Mary nodded her secret agreement to this request simply asking if Abby would like Tonic or Lemonade as the mixer, and sat Abby down.

"I'll bring it through to you. Now I've got some nice soup, would you like some with a roll?" This was asked in such a way that Abby thought Mary would be seriously dismayed if she refused so agreed to the suggestion. The table had been laid for a gargantuan banquet, judging by the numbers of knives forks, spoons, and utensils waiting her use. As she would normally microwave a supermarket frozen meal the only utensil that Abby would usually wash was a fork or spoon. The cutlery set out here would last her for days! Abby looked up as a man of medium height approached bearing her glass.

"Hello," he said, "you'll be Abby; I'm Jack, Mary's husband. Nice to have someone staying here this early." He handed Abby the keys to the car, "I've moved your car round to the back, nice cars those BMW's. Mary says your family came from round here." Like his wife Jack seemed to have the facility of talking of two different subjects scarce taking breathe, nor with a change of tone, and all seemingly within the course of one sentence. Abby smiled, it seemed so easy to smile at people in this place.

"Yes, well I believe so, but I don't know much about my family." A look of consternation passed over Jack's face.

"How can that be?" He asked. "Have you not got any?" A question that in the city would be viewed as an invasion, but down here was asked with genuine concern.

"I was an only child, and my mother didn't talk about her family. She died when I was nineteen, so I have no real knowledge of any relatives." At that moment Mary arrived with what seemed like a gallon of soup, and immediately scolded her husband for his impertinence.

"Leave the child be, and let her eat." placing this huge bowl of soup in front of Abby she ushered her Jack away.

Abby broke a bread roll and spread some butter on it, she popped it into her mouth and picked up the spoon, which was quite heavy, turning it over she could just make out faded Hallmarks, and the name "ELKINGTON", a name she had never heard of, but who obviously made good cutlery. She stopped as the flavour of the bread and butter attacked her taste buds. It was so good, the bread light yet with none of the floury sogginess of the bread she would buy supposedly fresh from the supermarket, the butter with a wonderful creamy taste with just a hint of saltiness. The soup was also superb, yet she could not identify what kind of soup it was. Realising how hungry she was, Abby spooned the soup and ate the rolls with enthusiasm, only stopping when reason told her not to satisfy her appetite, or else she would not be able to eat any of the pie that Mary had promised. Relaxing in her chair she looked around at the now occupied bar. There was no one on the posh side, but the other side had gained a few customers. They sat and stood in little groups, talking and drinking, with occasional bursts of laughter, their eyes sometimes straying toward her, as a curiosity, and averting sharply if they thought she was looking. Abby smiled inwardly to herself, supposing that yes, a stranger at this time of year would be the subject of questions. Mary came rushing back.