Peter arrived at the Fighting c***s Tavern a few minutes late. The tavern was more than its simple name implied; it was one of the designated places on the main road between London and Bath where horses could be changed and where passengers could obtain a good room for the night. Mr. Early had done well enough that he had increased the size of the tavern two years earlier. Peter looked around and, as usual, Norman was helping his father to serve the customers. Norman smiled as he saw Peter before going to the serving hatch and pulling off his apron. He went to get his coat but as he approached Peter, Norman’s father intercepted him.
Keeping his voice low, Norman’s father said, “Where do you think you are going? We are busy tonight and I need your help.” It was obvious that Mr. Early had m
