10-16-2019, 11:22 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-16-2019, 11:23 PM by Jules Everett.)
The storm outside had left the modest room feeling overcast and dreary, a deep gray shadow falling across the walls like a heavy woolen cloak. As his guest warily made his way across the room, Jules lit a lantern to edge the shadows away with a warm, flickering orange glow. Next was the stove, now lit, and then the kettle, set on top to make the water boiling hot. What kind of tea would Mr. Ireland prefer? Did it matter what kind of tea a potential scoundrel enjoyed? A cup of bohea would have to suffice regardless of whether Mr. Ireland preferred a refreshing congou or not.
The cobbler’s back tensed, each muscle tight and ready to spring like a compressed coil. What did this Ireland fellow truly desire? Despite it evident that the man’s shoes were well in need of a good fixing up, Jules’s stomach bubbled and turned. They couldn’t possibly have found them yet. No, Jules had been sure to cover their tracks; told Asa with a firm tone to keep a low profile. Hadn’t even told Mum where they’d run off to. As far as Mrs. Everett was concerned, her good boys had taken an extended trip to Italy for authentic leather goods, or something along those lines.
The Everetts’ china wasn’t the most astounding of quality, but it would do. He picked out the only unchipped cups in their collection. White with a delicate pale blue floral pattern along the edges. Mrs. Everett had insisted. “A bit of me to take along with you, then. The rest of me is too old for such extravagant travels.”
She’d like Whitby, he’d decided.
As the tea paraphernalia was collected, a muffled thud sounded below; Jules could feel the floor beneath him shake.
“Precious jewel!” a voice called up. Jules scowled. “Ay, I know you’re up there! Can’t hide from me, you know that.” A few more thuds. Heavy, quick, coming closer with each step. A scruffy face appeared in the doorway with a cheeky grin stretching from ear to ear.
“Ay, precious, you’ll never guess what nonsense I heard today about the fools back in L--”
Jules brought a finger up to his lips, then pointed at the tea setting with the other hand. “We have a guest. Surely you have more appropriate stories than the ones about ol’ mates.”
“Ay.” Asa nodded, dirty fingers scratching at a pile of dark curls atop his head. “Proper guest, then?”
“Perhaps.”
The cobbler’s back tensed, each muscle tight and ready to spring like a compressed coil. What did this Ireland fellow truly desire? Despite it evident that the man’s shoes were well in need of a good fixing up, Jules’s stomach bubbled and turned. They couldn’t possibly have found them yet. No, Jules had been sure to cover their tracks; told Asa with a firm tone to keep a low profile. Hadn’t even told Mum where they’d run off to. As far as Mrs. Everett was concerned, her good boys had taken an extended trip to Italy for authentic leather goods, or something along those lines.
The Everetts’ china wasn’t the most astounding of quality, but it would do. He picked out the only unchipped cups in their collection. White with a delicate pale blue floral pattern along the edges. Mrs. Everett had insisted. “A bit of me to take along with you, then. The rest of me is too old for such extravagant travels.”
She’d like Whitby, he’d decided.
As the tea paraphernalia was collected, a muffled thud sounded below; Jules could feel the floor beneath him shake.
“Precious jewel!” a voice called up. Jules scowled. “Ay, I know you’re up there! Can’t hide from me, you know that.” A few more thuds. Heavy, quick, coming closer with each step. A scruffy face appeared in the doorway with a cheeky grin stretching from ear to ear.
“Ay, precious, you’ll never guess what nonsense I heard today about the fools back in L--”
Jules brought a finger up to his lips, then pointed at the tea setting with the other hand. “We have a guest. Surely you have more appropriate stories than the ones about ol’ mates.”
“Ay.” Asa nodded, dirty fingers scratching at a pile of dark curls atop his head. “Proper guest, then?”
“Perhaps.”
