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skeleton!’
    â€˜I’ll bet it didn’t half hurt her when her got a length o’ bone up her cunt instead of a nice warm prick!’
    â€˜You should know, Charlie; you’ve had enough bones shoved up your arse in your life, aren’t you! But you liked it, didn’t you!’
    Another man shouted at the previous jeerer, and a furious fist fight instantly erupted between the pair which drew the passing stream’s attention and enabled Tom to walk on without further insult.
    His first clear sight of the lock-up, with its Gothic-arched front door wide open but no light coming from within, or from the upper window above it, shocked him into fearful suspicion that there might be intruders in the building, because it was the paramount rule that this door at all times be kept securely locked. He covered the remaining distance at a run, halted at the door and peered inside.
    Flanked by closed cell doors the murky-shadowed passage which bisected the ground floor appeared empty. At the far end of the passage there was another door which opened into a rear yard enclosed within high, spike-topped walls. To the inner side of this door a narrow, sharply angled flight of stone steps led up to the living quarters on the second floor.
    Tom stepped into the building and halted, listening nervously for any sounds of movement or voices. All was still and silent and the only sound and movement he could actually hear and feel were the thudding pulse of his heartbeat, and rapid rasping of his breath.
    â€˜Goddamn you, Thomas Potts, for being such a despicable coward!’ He angrily castigated himself for what he always perceived as his physical cowardice when faced with any prospect of violent confrontation. ‘Now go forward!’
    As silently as possible he moved along the passage, checking each cell in turn to make sure that it was locked, lowering the door hatch and looking inside to ensure it was empty.
    Tom reached the end of the passage, found that the rear door was also locked, turned to go up the stone stairs, and heard the sudden heavy metallic clatter of hobnailed boots from above. He recoiled in shock and emitted a strangled shout.
    â€˜This is Constable Potts. Come down here and show yourself!’
    â€˜I’m already coming down, aren’t I?’ a hoarse shout replied as hobnails clattered on the stone steps and the burly figure of Willie Tyrwhitt appeared. Scarlet-faced with anger he bawled, ‘The bloody bitch has gone! And I wants to know what you’m going to do about it, Tom Potts?’
    â€˜What?’ Tom was completely taken aback. ‘I’ll thank you not to speak so disrespectfully of my mother!’
    Tyrwhitt gaped at him in astonishment. ‘Your Mam? Who’s said anything about your Mam? What’s her got to do with anything?’
    â€˜Is my vile beast of a son insulting me yet again, Master Tyrwhitt?’ From upstairs the Widow Potts’ shriek carried clearly to both men’s ears. ‘I thank the Good Lord that you are here to protect me from him, Master Tyrwhitt! I’m sure he intends to do me grievous harm!’
    Despite his dislike of her as a person, Tom could not help but feel relief that no harm had befallen his mother. He lifted his hands in a rueful gesture, and told the other man, ‘Please ignore her accusations, Master Tyrwhitt. I do assure you that they are without foundation. Now tell me clearly, why are you here?’
    â€˜My Newfoundland bitch. You’ve got to search and find it afore any harm comes to it.’
    â€˜I beg of you, Master Tyrwhitt, don’t let that beast of my unnatural son come up to my room! He means to do me grievous harm!’ Widow Potts shrieked.
    Bodily weary through sleeplessness, distraught with worry about Amy, Tom’s control momentarily snapped, and he shouted back, ‘If you don’t keep silent, Mother, then I swear I
will
do you a grievous harm!’
    â€˜Never