THE DARK LADY OF THE KNUCKER

By Nel Barton

Meribel Hawkins was certainly not what she appeared to be. She had a wicked side which remained hidden - until it was too late. It was her nature. She couldn't really help herself.

As the new landlady of The Knucker public house, her presence caused disruption and sowed distrust between wives and their husbands and brought mayhem to the village.

But worse was to come.

Much worse......

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nel Barton
• Release date: Aug 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781502268761

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Knucker public house had been for sale some months before she arrived as the new landlady. It had not been easy to sell, lying well away from the busy roads in an area which few had reason to frequent and as the population of Higgin Down was sparse, the local trade was accordingly slight and very little profit could be accrued. Green was pleased to be shot of it.  He had struggled to keep it afloat for fifteen years and in the end was reduced to paying the overheads from his own pocket.

I’ve got no choice, he told his wife, if we don’t sell up now we’ll be bankrupt soon. Consequently, when the legal documents were signed and the Greens moved away, he sighed with relief. The Knucker was now someone else’s problem. They would miss the old place with its low ceilings and heavy beams but practicality had won the day and the Greens departed for a new chapter in their lives leaving barely a ripple in the village.

She arrived later the same day. Some of the villagers saw her. They could hardly have missed the sleek black Jaguar as it purred down the lane towards the centre of Higgin Down – half a dozen houses, the pub, a small general store and a butcher’s shop.  She pulled onto the forecourt of The Knucker, the door opened slowly and their first sight of Meribel Hawkins was a long slim leg encased in a black fishnet stocking, and unbelievably high black patent stiletto. The remainder of this apparition slowly emerged from behind the steering wheel; slim, lithe, dressed entirely in black and wearing an outsize black hat and sunglasses. They stared, open mouthed. Especially the menfolk. The wives were less overawed, collectively sensing there might be trouble brewing from such a rival but for the moment they kept their thoughts to themselves.

Meribel let herself into the pub’s only bar. She inspected the well-worn tables, the scuffed and faded Windsor chairs, and the dusty cellar. All was in order but urgently in need of re-arrangement, she decided.  Not a great deal. There was no point in upsetting the locals who no doubt clung to the place as it was, but it needed something to enliven it.  Peeping from behind the brown chintz curtains she spotted a few separate clusters of people on the opposite side of the road. She knew they were discussing her, and she smiled to herself.  It always happened.  She was striking. Once seen never forgotten. Then she went upstairs to view the living accommodation.  As expected it was drab. Nothing appeared to have been done to it for many years, but it was nothing a few coats of paint couldn’t put right. The Greens had taken their personal possessions and furniture with them. She would start afresh. She could afford to buy new, though some of her things were currently in storage and might come in useful. It was the first time she had visited the village and she had even purchased the pub on spec. It was conveniently close to her family and that was all she had needed to know. Not that there would be many opportunities for visiting once she had brought The Knucker up to speed.

There was much whispering in the village during the following week as her every movement was scrutinised.  They noted the arrival of ‘Smith Brothers’, a top-notch decorating company brought down from the city; they watched with curiosity as a large van unloaded boxes and items from the storage facility and could hardly have ignored the enormous truck struggling down the lane to deliver a new sofa, armchairs, bed and assorted pieces of new furniture. Meribel stood at the open door of The Knucker to guide them in and waved cheerily to the onlookers who, embarrassed to be seen nosing, turned aside and pretended they were on the pavement by chance.

Higgin Down was a farming community. It was a sheep rearing area and most of the inhabitants were in some way involved in the business. There were a couple of wealthy farmers, even more struggling farmers, and their workers. At lambing the wives were often dragged in to help at the larger establishments. The rest of their time, it seemed to Meribel, they spent their mornings gossiping in or around the local store or the butcher’s. In the afternoon they disappeared – probably to prepare a hearty supper for their spouses, whilst the evenings in Higgin Down were as active as its graveyard.

Smith Brothers called daily for a week and Meribel was almost sorry to lose their company. Still, they had done a good job.  The whole of the upstairs quarters had been painted milk-white and for the first time in many a year it looked wholesome.  The public area has also been painted; black behind the bar itself, and dark red on the remaining three walls.  It looked smaller, but it was also cosy and inviting.  She hung her new curtains, placed candles on the tables, and was almost ready for business.  One more thing was needed. A cleaner. That was imperative. Meribel would have damaged her long pointed nails if she had to scrub down tables or wash up, and that would never do.

A notice was duly pinned to the front door. Cleaner required. Afternoons 2 hours and evenings 8-11pm. Apply to Miss M. Hawkins, proprietor.

There were several applicants for the position. Many were Higgin Down matrons who were sussing her out, but there were also two young girls. Denise in her early 20s and Esme who was 17 and who had occasionally worked for the Greens.  Esme was the better choice.  Denise was sporting an engagement ring so no doubt her term of employment would be temporary.  No, Esme had told her, she didn’t have a special boyfriend.

Round these parts? ‘Ave you seen the men? she asked.  They’re all about 90 and only interested in sheep.

Yes, Meribel had seen them and noted them. They were potential customers.  90 was a gross exaggeration, but to the young, anyone over 30 was decrepit.

You don’t have your eyes on anyone particular then? she asked Esme.

No...  One day my prince will come, but not from round ‘ere I don’t suppose. Unless by some miracle they start hiring young men again. As it is, it’s all who-you-know and they take their workers from the long established Higgin families. ‘Taint right, but that’s the way it is. There’s no ‘ope for the likes of me being wed here. I’d have to move out to where the young ones are if I’m to meet anyone.

Oh I don’t know, Meribel mused, strange things happen.  Just wait and see what life has in store for you. It’s often not what you think it will be. I intend to bring some fresh blood into this old place. And it’s Meribel, please. There’s no need for us to be formal with each other.

That’s an unusual name, Esme responded, wrinkling her forehead.  I don’t think I ever heard anyone called that before.

It means ‘wonderful’, or to look at and see the beautiful.  Esme means ‘loved’ – did you know that?

Well I never did!  And there’s me thinking I was named for my great aunt. I thought it was just old-fashioned and didn’t like it, but now you’ve told me that I shall have to think again, won’t I?

And so it transpired that Esme was hired to start work the day before opening and consequently she became the link between the residents and Meribel, and vice versa.  Chatty, slightly nosey Esme, would do very nicely.

As Esme was leaving, Meribel glanced up at the weathered sign board hanging above the door.  It badly needed rejuvenating. Or replacing completely. That would upset the locals, she reflected, but there was little alternative; if left in its current state it could fall and injure the unwary and that would hardly be an auspicious beginning.

Ever helpful Yellow Pages gave the name of Burt Entwistle from Bridge End, the next village, and after a short phone call Burt arrived on the doorstep of the pub.

You want a new sign? he asked her, staring up at the board, now swinging rather precariously in the soft breeze and creaking on its fixing.  It’ll cost, I’m afraid. These things don’t come cheap.  He put his hand over his mouth and began patting it with his fingers. No, not cheap at all. Lot of work in that, see? Needs a new frame apart from just painting the thing.  Could do with a complete bracket too. That one looks about rusted through. What’s it supposed to be anyway? Don’t look like much from ‘ere.

It’s a knucker, said Meribel, hoping to bring it to his mind.

Never ‘eard of it.

It’s like a dragon but it has a long dangly body like a snake. And wings of course. Yes, it must have wings.

And what colour is this ‘ere snake thing?

Meribel was thoughtful. She wasn’t sure what to say.  Oh let’s make it purple. With a gold snout and end of tail. And green eyes. I've heard they have those.

Burt twisted his mouth to one side, a gesture which indicated he thought she was a touch weak in the head.  He no longer fancied the work, though he needed the money.

Your place? he asked her.  She nodded.  You could rename it then? What about The Black Horse or the King’s Head? There’s a few of them about. Popular they are. But Meribel remained adamant.

No. It has to be The Knucker. That’s the traditional name and I want it to stay.

Very well, missus, he straightened his cap which had slipped backwards as he stared up.  Knucker it is I suppose. If you’re sure you won’t change your mind?

Absolutely sure.

He produced a ladder from the back of his work van and proceeded to unscrew the old pub sign from the wall and examine it more closely. He hoped, once he’d cleaned it up a bit, it would give him some idea of what a knucker looked like.

’Bout a week I suppose.  I’ll get Mackie (whoever he was) to weld up the wrought-iron while I get on with the artistic side.  Hope you know what you’re doing? he sighed, because he wasn’t at all sure he did.

As soon as the sign was returned, Meribel would open for business.  It would have been inappropriate to do so until then.

Burt returned a week to the day and fastened his creation in the old spot.  Meribel, in a fever of excitement, restrained herself and did not look until it was finally in place.

It’s perfect, Burt, she said at last.  Exactly what I had in mind. How clever you are. Swinging above the door was a great purple dragon with a serpent body. The gold snout and tail gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Let me sport you a pint in gratitude.

Burt was her first customer, unofficial though he may have been.  He perched himself on a high stool at the counter, eyed the place up and down and commented that it looked better than in Green’s day, though he wasn’t over fond of the colours.  Swigging his beer, he wiped the froth from his lips and mentioned that the beer tasted different too.

A bit herby. Sweetish.  Very unusual but I have to say but I quite like it.

I’m so glad, Meribel cooed.  I hoped you’d say that. 

She was leaning over the bar top, her face close to his.  Perhaps it was working in the sun, or his tortuous endeavours over The Knucker, but Burt began to feel a bit swimmy.  Meribel’s eyes were fastened on him.  She really was a very attractive woman.  The low cut black dress seemed to dazzle him and for a few seconds he caught himself staring at the expanse of flesh before him.  Time seemed to stand still and it took quite a while before he gathered his senses, finished his beer and ambled out to his van.  What was the rush anyway?

Sure his dinner would be on the table when he got home. Might be baked into a solid lump and ‘she’ would be grousing, but that was too bad.  He’d had a lovely afternoon and had earned some money in the process.  Did life get any better than that?

Chapter 2

Meribel wore a strappy black sequinned top and very tight-fitting black satin pencil-skirt for the opening. She needed to make a good impression.  She chose Sunday for the grand affair, placing a board outside the previous evening to indicate drinks would be on the house in order that the locals could celebrate with her.  News of free liquor soon circulated, thanks to Esme, and as anticipated there were many customers that night: menfolk and their wives who rarely accompanied them but this occasion the opportunity to examine the landlady close up was too good to miss.  And whilst they were eyeing her, she was eyeing them.  Nothing much escaped Meribel’s notice. As Esme had informed her, they were all in their 40s, 50s, or more.

Meribel had dotted a few plates of nibbles about the room and persuaded by Esme a small fire was lit in the bar. It was more for decoration than anything else as it was still quite warm in the evenings, though the wind could be cool at times.

Half an hour after the pub opened for business, it was full.  Meribel rang the large brass bell hanging over the bar top.

Ladies and gentlemen, she began, I would just like to say a few words to welcome you all to The Knucker.  Drinks are on the house tonight... there was a murmur of approval, "but tonight only I’m afraid.

Pretended moans followed. However, I hope you approve of your new watering hole and I also hope I will be seeing many of you on a regular basis in the future,  she raised her glass: To Higgin Down.

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