Sorcha carried her bag inside and looked around for somewhere to sit. This was easier said than done; the saw room with sawdust on it's wooden floorboards, seemed crammed full of old men huddled on old, gnarled wooden benches. They were busy chatting, playing cards or throwing die for small bets. Many were smoking and the air was thick with nicotine laced smoke.
Nobody took much notice of Sorcha, but instead remained in their cliques,with conversations that were never ending.
Jack went up to the bar and once he managed to grab the attention of the barmaid; a rather buxom middle aged woman with rosy cheeks and a low cut, loose fitting top, explained that he had arrived. She turned out to be Mrs Eddowes, Manageress of 'Travelers Inn'.
She nodded and looked over to where every seat was occupied. “Come on gentlemen,” she boomed. “Where are your manners? Let's find the lady a seat.”
After some shifting and grumbling, a stool was vacated in the corner and someone with a deep voice called over “Here you are, miss.”
Sorcha sat down, grateful of a change in seating. A few people shot her curious stares and asked questions she didn't want to answer, but in the end got fed up of the Sorcha and turned back to what they were doing.
Sorcha sat and gazed out of the window. The cold cloudless night showed the full moon, and there was a velvet backdrop of twinkling diamonds shone down. She thought of the same same stars shining down on her beloved Ireland, and wondered what was happening at home.
“Here you are, miss.”
Sorcha looked up to see the barmaid standing there, with a glass of milk, and a pewter plate that had a hunk of bread and piece of pie on it. “I thought you might need this.” She put them on the table next to Sorcha, who was fumbling in her purse for her coins.
“Oh, no, dear, it's only the last small piece of pie, left over after that lot had their fill. It would be a shame to throw it.”