She had walked to the train station on her own from the market, basket slung over her arm. She wouldn't spend too much time away from Tilly, but she wanted to return Mister Blacke's handkerchief to him. After she had laundered it, she had taken the time to embroider his initials onto one corner of the cloth. "J.B." in elegant cursive cross stitch, the floss was white to match the cloth. She also carried a mince pie with her that she had baked for Mister Blacke as an excuse to talk to him further.

Pearl glanced about her, looking for him now.

She had walked to the train station on her own from the market, basket slung over her arm. She wouldn't spend too much time away from Tilly, but she wanted to return Mister Blacke's handkerchief to him. After she had laundered it, she had taken the time to embroider his initials onto one corner of the cloth. "J.B." in elegant cursive cross stitch, the floss was white to match the cloth. She also carried a mince pie with her that she had baked for Mister Blacke as an excuse to talk to him further.

Pearl glanced about her, looking for him now.

Joe couldn’t see Pearl Carrington right away as he was occupied loading a fish car with crates of smoked herring.  Swimming freely in the North Sea a few weeks ago, they were now destined for dinner plates in points south via Scarborough Central Station.  It was heavy and unpleasant work; he was down to his shirt and braces.

“Hey Joe, look over yon..” A fellow porter named Dudley was pointing.  Dudley was about 40 years Joe’s senior with grey sunken features, partially hidden with a mangy beard.  The man was content to allow the youth to do the heavy lifting while he leant on diminishing stacks of crates.

“Now there’s a catch of the day,” Dudley continued.  Dudley liked to stare longer than was proper: gentle-women, fisher-women, girls... didn’t matter to Dudley.  He liked ‘em all, the younger the better, and had proudly told Joe as much before.  What poor soul was that old fish staring at now?  Joe looked.

Pearl Carrington!

Joe’s gaze instantly shot to Dudley, who looked like a dog slathering at a juicy bone that was out of reach.

“Stop starin' you dirty ‘o bugger.”  Joe commanded.  “Anyway, there’s crates to be loaded, and you've done bloody nowt.  I’ll be back.”

“Hey!” The old creep shouted in protest behind him, but Joe wasn’t listening.

Joe trotted off in Pearl’s direction as fast as he could to steer her away from the unpleasant stares of men like Dudley.

When she spotted him, she stared for a moment as he came quickly toward her. Pearl was clad in a high collared blouse and a long, plaid skirt. A shawl was wrapped around her shoulders and lifted slightly in the unseasonably warm breeze. She wore a hat jauntily atop her curls, which were pulled back with a blue ribbon in a loose chignon with a few curls straying from the otherwise tidy appearance. When he neared her, she smiled at him. "Hello again, Mister Blacke," she said softly.

Then she produced his handkerchief, lifting it up and holding it up. It'd been neatly folded.

"I wanted to bring this back to you before I'd forgotten. I... wanted to thank you for your kindness the other day and baked you a pie as well." She paused and then said, "It's a mince pie. I didn't know what you liked."

And then she realized she had stared a little longer than she should. Heat filled her cheeks and she felt the butterflies dancing within her belly. Oh, but not even Pony had made the little butterflies dance like that, and she had liked him well. This... this was different.

Joe trotted over to join her.

"Hello," was all he could muster. Anything else that might have followed dissolved into a mumble and was lost. She looked fantastic, like the maidens from the folk music and sea shanties he listened to. Something magical. Then he remembered his manners. His hat and coat! They were over a barrel back at the goods shed, but the smell of fresh baked pie overrode manners.

"Mince pie is fine, Miss. The 'anky as well? You really are too kind." Again he was at a loss as to what to do with his hands. He blushed, excited to fill the void of embarrassment in his belly with pie. Then he remembered his manners...again.

"Sorry again, Miss. 'ere am I all hot and smelling o' fish, no cap, no coat. What would your brother say?"

"It doesn't matter what he has to say," she said. "He had no right to say what he said to you." She did not particularly care for the smell of fish, but she did not let it bother her. The mince pie's aroma did cover it up some. "I can leave you the basket if you wish. I haven't got anything else in there," she presented when he seemed at a loss as to what to do with his hands. She placed the hanky in the basket and offered it to him. Assuming he took it, she took a step back and moved an arm behind her back, that hand moving to grip her arm.

"I am sorry about my brother. He thinks our family is better than anyone else's family because we happen to have money... My father dislikes it so... I dislike it too. Papa worked for all of that money, our blood is no bluer than yours, really."

"It doesn't matter what he has to say," she said. "He had no right to say what he said to you." She did not particularly care for the smell of fish, but she did not let it bother her. The mince pie's aroma did cover it up some. "I can leave you the basket if you wish. I haven't got anything else in there," she presented when he seemed at a loss as to what to do with his hands. She placed the hanky in the basket and offered it to him. Assuming he took it, she took a step back and moved an arm behind her back, that hand moving to grip her arm.

"I am sorry about my brother. He thinks our family is better than anyone else's family because we happen to have money... My father dislikes it so... I dislike it too. Papa worked for all of that money, our blood is no bluer than yours, really."

Joe accepted the basket with a nod of appreciation.  It did give his hands something to hold.

"Maybe so, Miss, but I don't feel very aristo-" he stopped, unable to fully remember the word he wanted to use. "ar-ris-to-" Joe repeated in vain.  A jumble of letters, words, and half-digested news articles flooded into his brain, exposing the limits of his formal schooling. His face fell. What must she think of him?  Can't even finish a fancy word.

"I wish you wouldn't feel you must be in order to talk to me, Mister Blacke," she said gently. "I am not of noble birth. My father is a merchant." Why did men feel they had to live up to status to be with someone like her? She wondered this with a near shake of her head. Pearl saw his face fall and she reached out to touch his arm. "Please don't... You needn't be anything other than yourself around me."

"I wish you wouldn't feel you must be in order to talk to me, Mister Blacke," she said gently. "I am not of noble birth. My father is a merchant." Why did men feel they had to live up to status to be with someone like her? She wondered this with a near shake of her head. Pearl saw his face fall and she reached out to touch his arm. "Please don't... You needn't be anything other than yourself around me."

Joe did notice and felt Pearl touch his arm.  Her touch was gentle, warm, and most welcome.

“I don’t mean to put on airs, but you, - merchant or nought - are from one of the richest families in town.  People can be cruel and bitter and they talk. I wouldn’t want them to say unkind things about you or anyone falsely.”  

He hesitated for a moment, but he looked at her and remembered her fierce determination from the other night.  She might think less of him for being soft, but he felt he could trust her.  

"You see, it’s just that no lass has been interested in me before. Certainly nowt one like you.  Me. Joe. The railway man; son of a railway man; grandson of a coxs’n. If you want to know me for me, then -" he paused.  "Hello, I'm Joe."

Remembering a similar conversation, she tilted her head upward for a moment and then said, "Oh, pish." She then smiled and let her hand drop to her side. "Let them talk. They obviously have nothing better to do." There was no judgment in her eyes as she gazed at him.

"I see Joe, the man," she said so only he could hear.

Her whispered words did wonders for his ego, but also caused him to blush. He looked at her and remembered her from the other night, and he recalled moments ago seeing her on the platform. It was if someone had struck a match inside him and that match had suddenly burst into a fire.

"I see Pearl, the woman," he whispered back softly.