Fate Worse Than Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

permanently grimy. Both self-employed agricultural contractors, they brought with them smells of sweat and smoke, and a considerable thirst. Charley stopped boring on about his grandfather and reached happily for the Sun . Lois braced herself to cope with routine unpleasantness.
    But today, something was different. The newcomers, Stan Bolderow and Reg Osler, thick-set men of the string-vest generation, were snuffling with laughter. Stan, the shorter of the two, whose baldness was compensated for by a thick growth of greying chest hair that frizzed out through the trellis of his vest, was carrying something behind his back.
    â€˜â€™Morning, Lois,’ they chorused, their stubble split by gappy grins. ‘How do, Charley.’
    They paused expectantly. ‘Two pints?’ Lois enquired, forcing a professional smile.
    â€˜Ar,’ said Reg. His head was well thatched and his face was framed by sideburns, but his oil-stained vest hadn’t a single protruding hair. ‘Two pints o’bitter for us – and a half for Stan’s new friend.’
    Lois was puzzled and cross, as they intended that she should be. ‘Who do you mean?’
    They nudged each other. ‘Him, o’course,’ Reg snickered. ‘Gent with the beard, on the stool here.’
    Lois looked where he was pointing. At first she could see nothing, but then she stood on her toes and peered across the top of the bar counter.
    â€˜What on earth –? Good heaven’s, it’s a – oh, it’s absolutely filthy! Take it outside, for goodness’sake!’
    Reg and Stan lurched about with laughter. Charley Horrocks rumbled an accompaniment, his great shoulders heaving.
    â€˜Take it out!’ Lois repeated shrilly. Then, ‘No, wait a minute.’ She hurried round to the customers’side of the bar and looked more closely. The object squatting at the stool, two feet high, battered and dirty, was a plaster garden gnome. ‘Is it Beryl Websdell’s?’ she asked.
    Stan wiped tears of amusement from his eyes with the back of his smoke-grimed hand. ‘Reckon it must be Beryl’s. P’r’aps she’ll give me a reward!’
    â€˜Bag o’jelly babies, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Reg. They doubled up again.
    â€˜Poor Beryl,’ said Lois, ‘she’d be quite upset to see it like this. I’d better give it a scrub before she comes again. Where did you find it?’
    The bald-headed man sobered and shrugged. ‘In a ditch, ’ longside the Horkey road.’
    â€˜How on earth did it get there?’
    â€˜Hanged if I know.’ He became irritable. ‘What about that beer? We’ve been burning straw all morning an’I’m wholly dry.’
    â€˜What were you doin’on the Horkey road?’ asked Charley.
    Stan took the pint from Lois, and gave him a quick, disagreeable stare. ‘Minding me own business, bor,’ he said. The deference that former inhabitants of Fodderstone had shown towards the family of the Earls of Brandon was not extended by present-day villagers to the third Earl’s grandson.
    Charley Horrocks glowered. He found it impossible to believe that he had no status. ‘Horkey road be damned,’ he sulked. ‘Those fields were burned orf a week ago. Shouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been hidin’the stupid gnome yourself.’
    â€˜Are you calling me a liar?’ demanded Stan, his eyes and biceps bulging. ‘Why you great bag o’guts, I’ll –’
    â€˜Leave it,’ advised his friend with the sideburns. ‘What’s the betting Charley took the gnome himself, eh?’ He gave Stan a nudge; where the bald man was aggressive, Reg was sly. ‘Wanted a bit o’ company at nights, did you, Charley?’ he jeered.
    â€˜To hell with the pair of you,’ growled Horrocks. He turned on Lois. ‘This beer’s orf!’ he proclaimed.
    Her respite had