The journey from the Museum to the King’s Head inn, takes no more than a few minutes by Hansom cab. From the outside you see little attraction in the red brick building with its bottle glass windows adorned with a painted name and various advertisements for different beers and spirits.
Three steps lead to an open front door above which a small wooden plaque advises that Mr Bertram Jacobs is licensed to sell…
Within the quality of the interior is not done any favours by the somewhat shabby looking exterior. Scrubbed timber and brocade cushioned furniture are neatly arranged alluding to the nature of clientele frequenting this establishment.
Although not overly filled with customers at this time, there are a few and their speech and dress show them to be of the better classes. Clean and tidy, and probably more respectful of their betters than the places favoured by the lower orders around the east end, your arrival causes a momentary silence, since you are strangers to this establishment, but within moment the cheery hubbub of talk is restored.
It being late autumn, and a trifle nippy, a cheery fire burns in the fireplace besides which an empty table bathes in its merry warmth.
As you seat yourselves, a middle aged gent, portly of stomach and thinning of hair, in a white apron walks towards you wiping his hands on a towel.
“Welcome, welcome good Sirs, and Miss of course. Welcome to me ‘umble hestablishment. I ‘ave fine liquor and vitals to offer”
A dire rumbling sound from Roxborough reverberates around the Inn,
“I ‘ave been hadvised that me meat platter is the talk hov the harea and would not hesitate to hoffer it to folks as fine as yourselves”