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The Only Rules That Matter (TheCorsair, Madame Mim)

TheCorsair

TheCorsair

Pēdicãbo ego võs et irrumäbo
Joined
Dec 17, 2013
"The only rules that really matter are these:"​

"What a man can do..."​

"...and what a man can't do."



Dover, England
September 12, 1697

Johnathan Nathaniel Sparrow sprinted along the Great Pent Road, as much to escape the stench as to make good time. The tides were out, leaving the port more a stinking saltwater marsh than anything else. Ships slouched here, wallowing in muck that was too thin to walk on and too thick to sail on, waiting for the return of the tides so they could drag themselves from the mire once more.

Ordinarily, Johnathan would have stood and stared, dreaming of adventure to be had beyond the horizon. Of the Indies and the Americas, where it was said a man could find gold with a shovel and a strong back. Or of distant India and China, where men wore silk and dragons and tigers could be found. And of the sea. Always of the sea.

It called to him, the sea. His mother had sworn his father was a pirate, had sworn that he had born off the cost of distant India and that he had been baptized in a sacred river named the Gangees, and that someday he would return and they would live like kings.

A sigh.

His mother had also sworn that she earned an honest living as a cleaning woman. That the drink was purely medicinal. That she had married his father. That the time she'd thrown him into the Pent when he was six was to teach him to swim. She had sworn a lot of things.

But she had been his mother, and he had loved her. Loved her still, even though she'd died the winter he'd turned fourteen. But she had seen to his upbringing three years before that, apprenticing him to Master Christopher Halliwell the apocthecary. And even though he knew what sort of price she'd paid Master Christopher to apprentice him, he never blamed her. Everyone had to live, and his mother had usually treated him right.

The thought of Master Christopher got him moving again - even though he hadn't intended to, he'd stopped and stared at a moored ship and become lost in thought. The Pearl it was, a grandly-named little sloop that ran cargo and passengers, some legal and some not, between Dover and Calais regularly and other places as chartered. He took to his heels again, racing along Snargate over Sluice until he reached the Crosswall.

He eyed it cautiously, considering. The Crosswall would save him time passing over the Dour, but it had rained recently. It was treacherous on the best of days, and this was not the best of days - not with a fortnight of near-constant rain. Today had been dry, but it would take more than a single day to dry the wood of the great dike.

John jingled the coins in his pocket. He'd been given nine shillings to collect the Master's package, and he still had twelve pence of it. And he was thirsty from running, and there was a tavern at hand. Surely Master Christopher wouldn't begrudge his faithful apprentice a drink, after his hard work?

Of course he wouldn't.

And, with that decision, he pushed open the door of the Black Anchor.
 
The Black Anchor was loud with people and with song, but it was well-lit, warm, and clean. Michael Dolan had had a hard enough time bringing in business as an Irish immigrant when he'd first taken over the tavern years upon years ago; he wasn't going to push his name into further disrepute by making his one of those dockside pubs frequented by pirates and other unsavories of the like. Despite being an Irishman, the Black Anchor had done well for itself after the initial struggle to push itself to its feet again. Tables were scrubbed clean, hurricane lanterns were kept burning through the night, and while the harbor harlots were never denied food or drink if they wanted to do business or strike a deal they were made to take it outside. All in all it was once again a respectful establishment with respectful clientele, and Mr. Dolan a respected member of the community.

On a night such as this, young Jenny Dolan was so busy she hardly knew where to turn. There was another waitress on shift, but Thursdays were when most of the ships came in. They did their business through the weekend and sailed out again, but Thursday nights were when they came in and the sailors were looking for wine, women, and song. If it wasn't Jenny's name being shouted over the din, it was Rebecca's. Still, the Black Anchor was known for its fine service and the pretty girls who served them. Michael kept a close eye on the men who came in for the latter. Jenny sighed inwardly when she heard the bell above the door tinkle; she and Rebecca took alternating patrons and this was hers. She held up a finger to indicate she'd be with him in a moment.

"Sorry about that. Thursdays are always the worst," Jenny apologized breathlessly once she'd brought one table their supper and managed to find her new customer. He was a handsome lad, maybe a year or two older than her, and so her smile was perhaps a bit warmer than usual. "What'll it be, love?"
 
John was usually good with words. As the bastard son of a rumored whore, he'd learned to rely on two things early on in his life: his fists, and his wits. And of the two, his wits were less likely to end with bruises. But, at the serving girl's "What'll it be, love?", he felt those wits and the tongue they ruled dry up.

"Uhm, ah..." he licked suddenly dry lips. "Ah, just... just a pint." He considered that for a second. "Small beer. My master's expecting me back."

There was no specific reason he was so tongue-tied. Granted, like most boys bis age, most of his claimed experience with the fairer sex was braggadocio and lies, but he'd been to dances and talked to girls before. And while he was still a virgin, he'd kissed two or three lasses, and he'd even gotten a good feel of Maggie Shovel's breasts that day they'd started kissing in the root cellar. (The beating he'd gotten after Master Christopher caught them had been worth it…)

So, he was no stranger to talking, to women (he liked to think),or to talking to women. So, why was this Irish-sounding lass leaving him tongue-tied? Say something! He told himself. Anything!

"Uhm... where should... should I sit?"

And in the privacy of his mind, he kicked himself.
 
Jenny waited patiently as the young man seemed tongue tied. Her green eyes searched him, wondering why he wouldn't speak. Was he a mute? It would be unfortunate if such a handsome young man didn't have a handsome voice to match. Such a shame. When he licked his lips and finally spoke, however, her smile brightened further.

"Alright then love. Pint it is," she acquiesced. For some reason, Jenny felt her cheeks pinken lightly as he stared at her.

Jenny spent her evenings getting her rear pinched by customers as she passed. While she was used to being prodded, pinched, and squeezed by strangers she was by no means easy. She felt safe working at the tavern with her father being the owner and keeping an eye on her as she worked, but that also meant he kept an eye on the boys she did take an interest in. She had kissed two or three boys in her time, but nothing serious had ever happened. She had never even let a boy grope her. She felt her father's eyes on her from behind the counter as she stood blushing at nothing in particular. She needed to stop making eyes at the handsome stranger and get back to work.

"Oh sit anywhere you like," she said with a shrug. "Personally I like that table over by the window. You can watch the ships come in. But I don't suppose they'd be doin' that at low tide, would they?" Jenny made her feet move and she beckoned him over to the table. "Sure you don't want rum instead? Me Da gets it imported from Jamaica special. Best on the island." She turned a bright smile back to him again. She waited for an answer before pulling a pad of paper and piece of charcoal and scribbling a few numbers.

"If you need anything before I'm back just shout for me and I'll hear," the young waitress said with good humor. "Oh um...my name's Jenny, by the way." Her freckles stood out as her blush deepened ever so slightly and she stepped away to get this new customer's drink.
 
"Rum?" He considered that as he followed her to the table by the window wondering if he should. Beer was about his speed, although he'd had a glass of port at Easter with Master Christopher's blessing. Unpleasant stuff, but he could have hardly refused. "Sure, sounds great!"

God, she was pretty. He'd always thought he liked blondes, but the sunlight streaming through the windows struck fire from her coppery hair, and the dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks just called attention to eyes like new leaves and he hadn't even had a drink yet. This was getting ridiculous, just like how the port had loosed his tongue and damn near made a poet of him.

And she was blushing! Why was she blushing? Did she know how fetching that was?

He nearly missed her name. Nearly. "John," he answered. "And I'll be waiting for you." His own cheeks burned as he heard those words. "I mean, for the... uhm... the rum. And for you. Because you have to come back. With... witn the rum, I mean."

He gave her a quick, lopsided grin, and watched her hips sway as she threaded her way back to the bar. And then he groaned in despair, burying his face in his hands. "You're a fool, John. A right blithering idiot."
 
Jenny was grateful for reprieve from John's gaze as she turned around. John was far too cute and the way he stumbled over his words, and the way he told her he'd be waiting for her only made her blush grow deeper. She took a few deep breaths as she wove through the crowd. Someone grabbed her rear and she laughed as though it didn't bother her before playfully slapping his hand away and continuing toward the bar.

"Rum, Da. Just a pint." Jenny's flush hadn't completely faded by the time she'd put the order in at the bar.

"He's just a boy lass, no need to get all swoony." Michael was generally what one would consider gruff. He wasn't the touchy-feely type, but he had always clearly cared deeply for his daughter. One of the reasons he'd let her work here at his tavern instead of somewhere else was so he could keep an eye on her and on the men eying her.

"Da!" Jenny's freckles stood out further as the blush deepened again. "It's just a customer. Y'know how things are."

"Aye, and I know how you are," he rebutted. "Just do the job and don't encourage 'im, understood?"

"Yes, Da. Weren't planning on it anyway." Jenny rolled her eyes before taking the tankard set on the counter. "Thank ya." She took the pint and brought it back to John's table. The low-spenders who went for things like beer and whiskey she always encouraged to take rum or wine instead, depending on how they appeared. Rum was more expensive than what John had originally ordered and she smiled again as she set it in front of him.

"There ya are, love." She put her hand gently on his shoulder. Customers always tipped better when she called them pet names and touched them a little. "Anything else I can getcha? We got some nice stargazey pie, house special. It's 'round suppertime, might as well have a bite." Her hand gently squeezed John's shoulder as she smiled down at him.
 
There was a thump of pewter on wood, and then a hand on his shoulder and a curious tingly sensation as he heard Jenny call him 'love'. At that moment, he could cheerfully have curled up and listen to her talk forever. Even her suggestion of dinner sounded like angels singing. "Uhm," he temporized, gripping the tankard with both hands and thinking mournfully of the twelve pence in his pocket.

"I'm... I better not," he decided. "I'v a package to deliver to my-" He bit the next word off, hating how it sounded in his mouth. "To Master Halliwell. He'll be showing me how to brew a tincture of poppy, for pain relief, and I've got to be back before evening or there'll be hell to pay..." Suddenly aware that Jenny didn't need a justification for not buying dinner, he covered his awkwardness by swallowing a mouthfull of rum.

And then, eyes watering, he made a sort of wheezing cough as the alcohol burned down his throat. The mug thumped onto the table again as he coughed a second and a third time. "aaargh," he managed, coughing one final time.

Oh, God. Jenny was still right there, watching it all. She must think him a right fool, now.

"But... haak..." he heard himself say. "But, maybe, I could come back after? I mean, i mean, if you don't, don't mind? Master Christopher gives me my own evenings, long as I keep my studies up."

Or, he decided as he cringed internally at how stupid that sounded, I could open my mouth and remove all doubt.
 
Jenny waited again for John to make a decision. She took some comfort in the fact that he seemed to be as nervous around her as she was around him. When he decided against dinner her heart fell, not because the tavern wouldn't get more money from serving John his supper but because that meant he wouldn't be here as long. She shrugged as though it didn't bother her as much as it did.

Then John took a gulp of the rum. Immediately she understood why he'd ordered beer at first; he'd clearly not drunk much of anything harder. She covered her mouth to try to hide the giggling, but her shoulders still shook. As he recovered she bit her lips and rolled them between her teeth to stop the laughter.

"Start slow lad, gotta walk before you can run," she advised, thumping him heartily on the back. She waffled for a moment before offering, "I could bring you supper, if you want. I um...I know where the apothecary is. Da lets me take a break around six." Jenny bounced on her toes gently, anxiously awaiting John's answer.
 
Jenny started laughing. Oh, sure, she covered her mouth. But her shoulders still shook and her eyes still twinkled, and John was even more mortified. But there was something contagious about her silent merry amusement, and suddenly he had to clap a hand to his mouth to stifle his own snort of laughter.

She must have taken it for more coughing, because she started thumping him on the back. "Start slow lad, you gotta walk before you can run."

He nodded agreement. "Yeah. That was stronger'n I expected." Shaking his head, he peered doughtfully into the tankard. "Don't know if I like it or not."

"I could bring you supper, if you want."

The words shut him right up. "Huh?" he managed, for want of anything intelligent to say.

"I um... I know where the apothecary is. Da lets me take a break around six."

It took him a second to find his voice. "I'd love that! I mean, if it's not too much trouble, that is." He felt himself grinning like a fool, and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, and he didn't care. "Maybe... if you want... you could stay a few minutes? When you bring dinner, I mean. Just to talk?"

Seated, he couldn't bounce anxiously on his toes. But he had the nervous air of someone who would, if he only could.
 
His smile was adorable! The way John grinned at her at the thought of bringing him supper made Jenny's knees go all wobbly. She couldn't help but grin back; it was infectious. She bit her bottom lip to try to keep from looking foolish as she smiled, though she knew that probably only made it worse.

"That would be great, John," Jenny finally replied after she had regained her presence of mind. "I'll be sure to make time. Oh um...the rum, if you start with a sip instead of trying to gulp the whole thing, it should be better. It's actually rather sweet when you're not choking on it."

"Jenny! More whiskey fer me and m' mates!"

Jenny turned to look over her shoulder for a moment. "Be there in a mo' Mr. Gibbs!" she shouted back before turning to look at John again. "Tosser's been celebrating his joining up with the royal navy for three days now. He best be careful or he'll miss his ship if he hasn't already." She sighed and shook her head, rolling her eyes. There was a pause that went on and was about to spiral out of control before Jenny could stop it. "Um...well, I gotta get back to work." She smiled weakly. "I'll see you 'round six I guess. Just uh, just shout if you want anything else."

She turned on her heel and waded back into the crowded tavern before she could make even more a fool of herself. Jenny felt her entire face burning and she needed a moment to control it. Not helping was the way her father had been staring at the two of them as he poured drinks from behind the bar, and now eyed John suspiciously.
 
She'd agreed! He was grinning like a fool now, and he didn't care. She'd agreed, and he was so excited he nearly missed her advice about the rum. But, his excitement (and relief) seemed to have loosed his tongue a little. "So it's sweeter if I go slow?" he repeated, a half-smile on his lips. "I'll keep that in mind."

One of the other patrons called for whisky, and John used Jenny's distraction to grab his mug and cover a bought of sudden shyness by sipping the strong drink. He could hardly believe he'd said that, but he was glad he had. And she was right. The rum was sweeter, if you sipped it.

Jenny's description of this 'Mr. Gibbs' made him chuckle. "Navy's gotten enough men through strong drink," he chuckled. "Does it make any difference, if they miss one for the same reason?" Then, on impulse, he raised his mug in Gibbs' direction. "Here's to the unknown, hey?"

Then Jenny reminded him she had to get back to work, and he nodded. "I'll be doin' the same, one I finish my drink. But, yes. I'll be looking forward to... to six."

He'd said six, right? Please, God, let him have said six. And he must have, because she smiled, rather than slapping him. He smiled back as she turned, and kept smiling as she wove between the tables. "Who needs the rum?" he murmured. "A man could get drunk on her…"

Then he noticed the sour look of the tavern master, staring right at him, and John decided to pretend he was very interested in his drink.
 
Jenny smiled as John toasted one of her other patrons, still recovering from her highly embarrassed blush. Had he really just said that? Had he just made that innuendo? She couldn't think of much else as she worked through the early evening, only John, his cheeky flirting, and their impending meeting at six.

At long last, six o'clock came. It was Jenny's time for dinner as well. She packed two portions of shepherds pie and a flagon of mead before seeing out across town, carefully avoiding mentioning to her father where she was going. The tavern girl wove her way through the somewhat crowding streets in the gloam. Knocking gently before entering shyly.

"Master Halliwell?" Jenny called shyly, poking her head into the apothecary before the rest of her followed. "John...?"
 
"Pay attention, John!" Master Christopher barked, slapping his hand on the counter. Startled, he jumped along with the glassware and crockery.

"I'm sorry, Master Christopher," John answered automatically. "I'm just..."

"You're a million miles away, John." The Master stared at him, hands on hips. "First you volunteer - volunteer! - to mind the store for Jacob tonight, and now you're daydreaming." He shook his head. "What's gotten into you, boy?"

"Nothing, nothing," John answered, hurridly.

"Really?" Master Christopher stared at the beaker. "Well, we're nearly done. Don't forget, at least, that dinner will be at five."

"I... had other plans," Jack said, evasively.

The Master eyed him sharply. "Other plans? With you minding the store?"

"Well," John said hurridly, "she's bringing dinner to..."

"She?" Master Christopher chuckled. "She?" John's cheeks burned with embarrasment, which made his Master laugh louder. "Well, I should hardly be surprised. You're very nearly a man grown. Who is she?"

John blinked at his Master in surprise. "Ah... Jenny. Jenny... ah..." He realized he'd never gotten her last name. "The daughter of the master of the Black Anchor."

Master Christopher nodded. "Doyle, then. He's Irish, but I've no prejudices against them." He favored his apprentice with a smile. "I'm not your father, John, but I've tried to do right by you..."

"I've no complaints, Master," John assured him.

"And I feel a need to ask. You... do you know the way of things?"

John stared at him, blankly. He can't be...

"Between a man and a woman, I mean?"

"Yes! Yes!" John replied, hurridly.

The Master looked at him, long and searchingly. "Aye. I well remember you and my wife's maid. Well, I'll not say no to you. I was young once, myself. Enjoy your dinner." He turned to leave, then looked back. "But remember, you've chores to attend in the morning. And sire no bastards, John, or you'll marry the lass like it or not."

The door slammed shut, leaving John staring at it in wide-eyed amazement.


Time crawled by.

He'd cleaned up the workroom, then entered the shop. It was one of the few establishments not devoted to selling food or alcohol that remained open after sunset. Tuesdays and Thursdays, Master Christopher remained open until eight, and emergencies could rouse him from bed at any hour.

John passed the time playing a flute, and staring at the clock, and checking the lamps, and staring at the clock. How long could it bloody well take for a single hour to pass?

The door opened. "Master Halliwell?" Jenny called shyly, poking her head into the apothecary before the rest of her followed. "John...?"

John lept to his feet. "Right here, m'lady, and at your service!" He swept an arm out as he bowed low and dramatically, then took the basket from her arms. "Here, let me help you. I hope you don't mind eating at the counter. The stool's comfortable, and I've scrubbed and waxed the top, so I know it's clean."

He set the basket on the counter, then made a production of pulling out the tall oak stool for her. "So... did Mr. Gibbs ever make it to his ship?" It wasn't what he really wanted to say. But then, he wasn't sure what he really wanted to say.
 
Jenny jumped slightly as John seemed to come out of the shadows. She smiled and couldn't help but giggle as he bowed and acted like a gentleman. She was a tavern girl; men didn't bow to her, and the only gifts they gave her were unsolicited smacks and pinches to the rear. Even the thought of a man being gentlemanly was foreign and almost ridiculous to her.

"Pfft! I'm no 'm'lady,' John. Jenny's good enough for the likes of me," she said gently, curtseying uncertainly at the low, dramatic bow before allowing him to help her set out the food. "Thank you. I don't mind at all. I usually just eat in a back room anyway. I brought some mead this time, thought perhaps that'd suit you better than the rum. But ah...I'm afraid I only had enough hands for the basket and one mug."

Jenny was not a tall girl. Though she was the middle child even her younger brother was taller than her and the tall stool came nearly to her ribs. She was used to a world that was too tall for her, however, and with only a little difficulty managed to pull herself up onto the stool and adjust her skirts around it. The only problem she had was scooting the stool close enough to the counter to be able to eat without looking ridiculous. Still she mostly managed, scooting the stool a little at a time until she was close enough to unpack the contents of the little picnic she had packed and begin dishing out the aromatic contents. Along with shepherd's pie she had nicked a few dinner rolls and some butter. Butter was a luxury Mr. Dolan couldn't afford to allow his daughter every night with her meal, so she thought it might make this night a little more special.

"Hmm?" Jenny licked the remaining mashed potatoes from the fork she'd used to dish out dinner, using that as her own and giving John a clean one. "Oh his ship don't leave til tomorrow. Last I saw he were so far in his drinks he'll have a Hell of a time of it in the morning. Oh um, I mean..." Her freckles stood out again as she flushed in embarrassment at her slip of the tongue. "I'm sorry. Working around sailors all day, sometimes things just slip out. Weren't very polite; I'm sorry." She cleared her throat and avoided eye contact for a few moments before folding her hands together in her lap and bowing her head.

"Heavenly Father, we ask for Your blessing on this meal and on this day. We thank You for the food we are about to enjoy and for the company we keep, for the blessing that is every day of this life. We ask that You continue to send us these blessings from now until the end of days. In Jaysus name we pray. Amen." Jenny crossed herself and looked up, taking up her fork once more. It had been a simple prayer but an earnest one. After swallowing her first mouthful she looked back over to Jack in the dim lamplight.

"So how're those poppy tinctures comin'?" she asked conversationally. "Ma don't like the way poppies make her sleepy. She uses an Indian Pipe tincture instead. That's about all I know of...this sorta stuff." She gestured vaguely around them. "You must be awful smart to understand all of it."
 
Once Jenny was seated, John made his way back around the counter and pulled up his own stool. "Not very polite?" he laughed. "Don't worry - I'm not easily offended." Cheerfully, he took the fork and started to dig in.

"Heavenly Father," Jenny announced, making John look up in surprise, "we ask for Your blessing on this meal and on this day."

Religion. That was another thing he wasn't entirely certain about. Oh, he went to church of course. But faith? Well, no loving God had ever extended the arms of mercy about him.

"We thank You for the food we are about to enjoy and for the company we keep, for the blessing that is every day of this life."

Still, he wasn't going to up and say anything about that. He wanted to make a good impression - needed to make a good impression - and was willing to keep his opinions unsaid.

"We ask that You continue to send us these blessings from now until the end of days. In Jaysus name we pray. Amen." Jenny crossed herself and looked up, and John did the same. Then finally satisfied that he'd done his duty, he took up his fork and dug in.

"So how're those poppy tinctures comin'?" she asked conversationally.

"Hmmm?" Mouth full of shephard's pie, he didn't dare answer.

"Ma don't like the way poppies make her sleepy. She uses an Indian Pipe tincture instead. That's about all I know of...this sorta stuff." She gestured vaguely around them. "You must be awful smart to understand all of it."

John swallowed. "Well," he said, looking about conspiratorialy, "don't tell anyone, but... I am." The last two words were delivered in a stage whisper, with a grin and a lifted eyebrow. "I'm John Sparrow, after all."

Laughing a little, he shook his head. "It's not actually all that hard, not really. Well, I mean, if you've been studying it for years. You just have to love the plants, really. Like your mother's tobacco tincture - horrible stuff if you smoke it, but it's a purgative, an aid to digestion, and helps prevent colds and fevers. The sort of thing your mother should be drinking, really, unless she's got severe pains or has trouble sleeping."

He took a sip from the mug. "But... what about you? Helping run a tavern. You must have an excellent memory, and be able to do sums. Lots of people can't do sums, you know." He forked up another mouthfull of shepherd's pie. "Lotta people probably think the world isn't fair, you being able to do all that."
 
Jenny laughed as he insisted that he was smart just on the fact that he was John Sparrow. Grace had thrown him off, she could tell that much, but she wasn't going to say anything. Not at this point. At the mention of tobacco she shook her head. It was a common misconception, one she didn't begrudge him.

"Not tobacco," she said gently, trying not to sound like she was correcting him despite that being exactly what she was doing. "Indian Pipe. It's some sorta weed or sommat, grows in the colonies. There's a herbalist near the tavern as carries it and makes tinctures. Good for pain."

Jenny took a few more bites of her dinner as he spoke, looking a little longingly at the mug but not taking a sip. Being a sort-of educated man she didn't know how he felt about sharing things like plates and cups. At his insistence that there were probably a lot of people who couldn't do what she did, she shrugged.

"I can only do sums coz I gotta help Da," she insisted. "It's not like I can read or write or anything. Don't take much to learn sums, anyway. Not like it's hard stuff, two'n'two adding up to four. I'd rather learn about plants than sums, or how to read..." Jenny turned her face toward the counter in embarrassment. It was unseemly for a girl to know how to read or even want to. "But what's a girl need to read for, eh? 'Specially a girl like me."
 
"Indian pipe..?" John mused aloud, considering. "I'm not familiar with that one. I'll have to look it up, later. Maybe you could show it to me? Ah... if you don't mind, that is," he added, realizing how assumptive that sounded.

He took a sip from the mug, and tried to change the subject. "But... what about you? Helping run a tavern. You must have an excellent memory, and be able to do sums. Lots of people can't do sums, you know." He forked up another mouthfull of shepherd's pie. "Lotta people probably think the world isn't fair, you being able to do all that."

"I can only do sums coz I gotta help Da," she insisted.

John cocked his head to one side, giving her a curious look. "So?" he asked. "Don't really matter why you learned something, so long as you can." He took another bite. "My ma used to tell me that. Only things that really matter is what you can do, and what you can't."

"It's not like I can read or write or anything. Don't take much to learn sums, anyway. Not like it's hard stuff, two'n'two adding up to four. I'd rather learn about plants than sums, or how to read..." Jenny turned her face toward the counter in embarrassment.

John grinned. "Then learn," he said. "I, uhm... I could, ah, teach you." He took another drink.

"But what's a girl need to read for, eh? 'Specially a girl like me."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," John answered, offering her the mug. "Plants, for instance. There are all kinds of books about plants." His expression grew serious. "And there's nothing wrong with a girl like you, Jenny. Nothing at all, and nothing at all wrong with a girl like you wanting to read."
 
"Oh I dunno what it looks like," Jenny admitted with a shrug, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear. "Ma buys it in a tincture. I've never seen the actual plant."

Jenny hid her face in the mug to take a long drink when John offered to teach her how to read. If she was guilty of sin it was pride. Sitting for long hours with John, struggling through long words and possibly making a fool of herself, the idea was horrifying. Still...the idea of sitting for long hours with John was more of a motivator than expected. When she finally finished her long drink she still looked at the counter, too embarrassed to look up at him.

"You wouldn't wanna waste your time on the likes of me," she replied quietly. "My da can't read, neither could his da...seems kinda silly y'know?" Jenny chuckled quietly. "Besides, I gotta help at the pub and you're probably too busy...I mean why would someone like you...Coz y'know...I mean you work long hours anyway..." The tavern master's daughter looked up but didn't meet his eyes, rubbing the back of her neck.

"I'm sorry...I'm talking too much. I'll stop." Jenny began to shovel food into her mouth in an unladylike manner to keep herself from botching this more than she already had.
 
Almost surprising himself, John reached across the counter and took Jenny's free hand. Her skin was slightly rough on the palm and fingers, hardened from work, but the contact still sent a thrill through him. "But I like listening to you talk. And why wouldn't I want to spend time with the 'likes of you'? What man wouldn't want to spend time with a smart, pretty lass like you?"

He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, and he was certain his voice had caught on the word 'pretty'. Was he going too fast? He didn't know. All he knew was that, at this instant, he couldn't bear the thought of letting go. And so, acutely aware of his own breathing and the warmth of her hand, he looked dep into those amazing leaf-green eyes of hers. "Because, because there are no other girls like you."
 
Jenny swallowed hard when John took her hand. She stared at their hands before looking up at him. His words took a few moments to register, but when they did she felt a heat rising in her face. He thought she was smart and pretty! She had to bite her lip to keep from grinning too widely.

"You're a sweet lad, John Sparrow," Jenny said at last, unsure of what else to say. She wasn't used to being sincerely complimented and didn't know how to respond, really. Her hand curled around his as she held his hand back. "You can teach me how to read if you really wanna. I um...I don't get out of the tavern til at least nine, but I can come here on my breaks and such." She hesitated for a moment before leaning forward and pressing a soft, gentle kiss to John's cheek. Suddenly incredibly shy, she returned to shoveling food into her mouth to keep herself from further making a fool of herself. Still, she didn't let go of John's hand.
 
John held his breath, waiting to see how Jenny would respond. She just looked startled at first, and then she was blushing and smiling and he was smiling back. "You're a sweet lad, John Sparrow," Jenny said at last.

He grinned wider. "If you're telling me that, Jenny Dolan, it must be true."

Her hand curled around his as she held his hand back. "You can teach me how to read if you really wanna. I um...I don't get out of the tavern til at least nine, but I can come here on my breaks and such."

"Well, I can always..."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, lips soft and warm on his skin, and he entirely lost his train of thought. He just stared at her, grin threatening to split his face,a s she started eating again. "...always... ah... what was I saying?" He shook his head. "Can't be that important. Oh, I remember! I can always come by on my day off, or meet you after nine, or... Hell - sorry, Jenny, I'm a bit rude myself..."

His thoughts raced. "And I've Thursday afternoons off, and Sunday after mass, and I'm babbling, aren't I? He laughed, and squeezed her hand gently. Then, unsure what else to say, he started eating again as well.
 
Jenny couldn't help but grin at John's reaction to her kiss. He seemed to like her and she liked him very much. After a few minutes of thinking she decided on a schedule.

"We can get together somewhere after church," she suggested. "And maybe a day or two during the week, once we're both done working."

She finished her shepherd's pie in relative quiet, not letting go of John's hand. She liked holding his hand. It was nice, uncomplicated, and sweet. Jenny had to let go to split her bread and butter it, but then she quietly returned her palm to his. No muss, no fuss, just quiet affection, which was what Jenny enjoyed.

"I um...I've really enjoyed spending time with you, John," she said quietly, looking over at him shyly. "But I gotta get back to work. You can come see me there whenever you like...but it's getting late. Wouldn't blame you if you wanted to go home." Slowly Jenny slid down from the stool, gathering her things. "I can't wait to start our reading lessons, John." She hesitated for a moment, debating internally, before leaning forward and pecking his lips gently before turning to hide her blush and wide grin. "Goodnight, John," she called over her shoulder before disappearing into the street.
 
It was a little thing, that kiss. Just a quick darting motion, a brief contact of lips. A tiny thing, really. But it still made his pulse pound and his blood tingle. And then Jenny was saying goodnight as she opened the door and stepped onto the twilight street of Dover.

John was at the door in an instant. "Good night, Jenny!" he called, wishing he could walk her home rather than watch her leave. Only when she was out of sightdid he finally turn, reentering the shop.


"You're in rather earlier than I expected, lad," Master Christopher said, looking up from his violin. "I'd rather thought you'd be gone half the night."

Music was a nightly ritual in the Halliwell house. The Master and his youngest son played the violin, and his wife Mary the piano. The older children had grown up and moved out, which John suspected was the reason for the modestly paternal interest Master Christopher had in his two apprentices. That tradition was the reason Jacob had taken up the guitar, and half the reason for his own delight in the flute.

"It was just dinner," he answered. There must have been something in his voice, though, because Jacob sniggered and the Master and Mary exchanged knowing glances.

"Well," Christopher said, smiling a little, "if you're in for the night, why don't you join us?"

"Or would you rather go write poetry?" Jacob added. He and Ben, the Master's son, both laughed.

John produced his hand-carved flute, and regarded the two young men fondly. They were the closest thing he had to brothers, and the first real friends he'd ever had. Well, after he'd hit Jacob for calling him 'whoreson' and blacked his eye, and gotten a split lip in return, and both of them had gotten a beating for not saying who'd struck first.

"Not until she can read it," he said, raising the instrument to his lips. Then, leaving them to wonder what he meant by that, he started into the first song that came to mind. It would be hours later when he remembered the name. An Irish tune it wad. 'Give me your hand.'
 
"How was your supper?" Michael Dolan watched the way his daughter walked as she came back behind the counter to put away her things and get back to work.

"Fine." Jenny was careful to avoid his gaze. She was afraid that if she looked at him he would know. He always knew these sorts of things.

"And that young man of yours? Did he keep his hands to himself?" There it was. Her tired sigh did nothing to dissuade the tavern master from his line of questioning.

"It was just dinner, Da," she insisted, rolling her eyes but still not looking into his. "No grandchild of yours is gonna be a bastard, I promise. 'Sides, I only just met him tonight."

"But he is your young man?" Mr. Dolan poured a few more beers for the customers bellied up to the bar.

"I don't know!" Jenny slipped on her apron, tying it at the small of her back.

"Well let's start with something you do know. How about a name?"

"Why? So you can go askin' about town after him?"

"I only do it for your own good, y'know. Name, Jennifer." He had always been stern, but fair. Jenny was his middle child and only daughter and he felt it his paternal duty to ask after her suitors, to see what respectable members of the community thought.

"John Sparrow," Jenny finally answered, reaching under the bar to grab her tray. "He's apprenticed to the apothecary, Master Halliwell. Please don't scare him off, Da." The girl had ducked back under the counter to bring Mr. Gibbs yet another round of drinks and now turned to give her father an earnest look. "He's really nice. He wants to teach me how to read. Please Da...just leave 'im alone."
 
September 15, 1697

The minutes had crawled by, slowly aggregating into hours which collected into days. And now John Sparrow endured another interminable sermon, made simultaneously more and less bearable by thoughts of one Jenny Dolan. He'd replayed Thursday night a hundred times in his mind, a thousand times, trying to decide what she felt for him and what he felt about her.

He was, after all, only seventeen.

He had intended to stop by the Black Anchor as well. But Master Christopher had kept himself and Jacob busy from sunup to sundown with lessons and chores, and it had been all he could do to drag himself off to bed at night. But, finally, Sunday had arrived. And mercifully, Father Little was winding down.

His departure from the church was probably a little more hasty than strictly necessary. But it had just drawn a knowing smile from Master Christopher and his wife.

He hadn't seen Jenny at the service. But then, she lived on the opposite bank of the Dour, so she probably attended St. Mary's rather than St. Michael's. Unless... she was Irish. Was she a Papist? He didn't rightly care, but there were many in Dover who would.

Finally, bundle of books under his arm, he found himself standing in front of the Black Anchor. Drawing a deep breath, he opened the door.
 
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