'What did the Brontës do?' Pamela asked, innocently.
'They wrote Gothic love stories,' Mrs. Pascoe told her, 'in the early part of the 19th century. They didn't live for very long, poor things. Something about the proximity of the graveyard to their water supply, from what I understand. Anne was a bit of a feminist, if that sort of thing interests you. She was many years ahead of her time . . .'
All the way to Haworth, Pamela's thoughts ran in counterpoint to Mrs. Pascoe's pleasant and interesting ramblings. It turned out that she had heard of stories like Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre. They were so famous as to be common household words, like salt and pepper. But she had never read either story, or seen cinematic renditions.
Once at Haworth they didn't make their way to the top of the steep main street where the church and museum, formerly the Haworth Parsonage, were situated. Instead they went directly to a clothing store where Mrs. Pascoe closely supervised Pamela's purchases, warning her about the coming winter weather. Afterwards, Mrs. Pascoe allowed Pamela to go to Deluxe Junk, a secondhand clothing store, where she got a number of utilitarian items: some heavy, warm outdoor clothes, a good pair of wellies with a lot of wear left in them, two pairs of walking shoes that appeared almost new, a tall, wooden plant stand she herself wouldn't have minded owning. After leaving, they put Pamela's parcels in the boot of Mrs. Pascoe's car and made their way to the Black Bull. On the way, Pamela took in the names of other businesses for future reference- The Stable Door, The Copper Kettle, Spook Books . . .
'It's relatively quiet, for a change,' Mrs. Pascoe said with obvious relief, appraising the interior of the Black Bull as she removed her outer garments and hung them up. When Pamela had followed suit and they had seated themselves, she added, 'Suits me just fine, without all those obnoxious tourists cluttering up the place. Now, d'you know what you'd like?'
Pamela gazed at the menu, feeling blank. 'I don't know. What are "game pies?" And what are "pasties?"'
'Oh, dear,' said Mrs. Pascoe with mock exasperation, 'you do need educating. I'll order, how will that be?' She ordered two "best" and some "pasties," which turned out to be a couple of pints of beer or ale (Pamela didn't know the difference) and meat and vegetable filled pastries. Pamela balked when she saw the beer but decided to drink it out of politeness. 'Now, then,' Mrs. Pascoe said, 'let's get down to brass tacks. What's going on between you and young Mr. Dewhurst? And don't you try to deny it! I saw you standing there in his arms- '