“I think that’s wise,” the other officer said.
“Don’t let me catch you serving late again, Dai,” Graham said, then he grabbed me by the collar and marched me through the door.
Outside the pub, a carriage was waiting for us and I watched as Gwyn and Mair were put into the back of it. Graham spun me around to put cuffs on me and I spotted Arthur sitting on the wall of the church smiling over at us. As they put me in the back of the wagon and bolted the door, he flicked a cigarette to the ground, gave us a wave and then walked off into the darkness.
The inside of the wagon smelled damp and musty and I could barely see the faces of my friends. In stark contrast to the omnibus that we had travelled in a few weeks earlier, the jailer's wagon was surrounded by bars that let the cold air blow through, leaving us all shivering. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“The city,” Gwyn said. “He mentioned the magistrates so we’re to appear before the courts I’d imagine.”
“For what?” I asked, incredulous at the idea.
“Whatever he decides we’ve done wrong, I suppose.”
“He can’t just make up charges,” I said, and I began trying to pull my wrists apart to get my hands free.
“He’s a Morgan, Tom. He can do what he likes.”
“This has got Arthur written all over it,” Mair said, her voice filled with rage. “The… the fucking wanker.”
Enough light from the moon was breaking through the bars for me to see Gwyn raise his head to look at Mair, and then turn his eyes to me.
“I suppose you taught her that?” He asked, and I had to stifle a laugh.
I leaned my head back against the railing, exhausted and annoyed. The bumps in the road removed any hope of sleep and so I sat, staring, and hoped that whatever fate befell me, it didn’t involve a trip to the gallows. If Mrs Hopkin was right and you should start the New Year as you meant to go on, then this didn’t bode well for the time ahead.