In most places, a graveyard might be a strange place to relax, but in Whitby, the graveyard of St. Mary's church on the east cliff offered a splendid view over the town and sea, and in this sunny, warm weather, it was almost impossible to resist. There was a pleasant breathe here too, rolling in from the moors, that did not quite reach the town below. 

She didn't relax entirely. Her hands were busy knitting one of the typical blue guernseys that the fishermen wore. Every town had its own pattern - it allowed for easier identification of those unfortunate men who washed ashore miles from home. Anne had learned the Whitby pattern very early on in her childhood, and now she only needed to look down at her work occasionally. She could enjoy the sun, and lovely view of the light reflected on the water below, and daydreams of better days in bygone times and better days in the future.

Victorians loved promenading in graveyard. It was true in Whitby like it was true in Paris and while Paris had more of a hill that had been styled into a park/graveyard for those who wanted to search grand names and enjoy some quiet walking among the dead, Whitby had the sea. Chéri was still exploring and curious to find out how this particular activity could be different in his current home.

It was more scenic in a very rural sense, for sure. And it wasn’t as much as an upper class activity, as attested by the girl knitting a blue guernsey. Chéri got closer to her. In a different situation they would have asked to see, curiously, but in this situation they just came as close as reasonable, ignoring any sign of distress, and stared at her hand “‘ello!” They said in English, then put their eyes on her hands, curiously to follow the pattern and figure out how she was doing the work.

Anne hadn't heard the stranger approach and so she jumped a little and dropped her work. She quickly picked it up to save her stiches before looking up. A... boy? Judging from the haircut, but with a face so pretty it was almost a girl. A cute boy. She couldn't help but smile, which she was normally too shy for in front of strangers. "Hello..." she said quietly. She stared.

She wished she could run and tell Ellie she had finally figured out what kind of boys she liked. But it would be rude to just run away.

The work was dropped and Chéri followed that with sorry eyes. Was it ruined? They didn’t realised at all they were being stared at. Too used to it, probably. Chéri was now dressed in very generic clothes, stuff he had borrowed from the diamond pony while their very fine suit were being cleaned and saved for when there was money to be made. Chéri smiled back in their disarmingly warm way and stared, without any same.

Chéri pointed their fingers at the knitting work and said “Pretty.” That word they knew, then blinked. They made a few movements with their hands “How?” They wanted to learn?

She didn't know this boy. He was not from her community. A stranger, talking to her for no reason. She should be careful or she'd end up pregnant!

But she couldn't help her smile widening. "Thank you," she said shyly. He clearly struggled with English. A sailor lad? Almost a fisherman then. He looked nice, anyway, so he couldn't be the bad type. She patted the spot next to her.

"Look," she said, and she began to knit again, very slowly, so that he could see what she was doing. Her eyes slid from her work to the pretty face. She had never met a boy like him.

If someone had told Chéri they had the ability of making people pregnant by looking at them, they would have made it a personal mission of spreading the gossip.

Chéri nodded. How did one answered to thank you in English? “De rien” in French. The answer was in French. Chéri observed her hands and draw a circle with the tip of their finger. Again. They used their eyes to add please.

Anne frowned, wondering what language the stranger spoke. She stopped knitting. "Wheeere aaaare youuuu frooom?" she asked.

That was a full sentence. Sentences were hard. Words were hard too, but Chéri knew more of those. “Ffffff-rrrrr-aaaa-nnnnn-cccccc-eeee.” They answered likewise. Of course, had she spoken normally, they would have not understood. Didn’t mean they could not joke about it.

"Oh," said Anne, not sure if she was being mocked. She looked down at her work, uncertain. He wasn't laughing at her of anything. She looked up again and put a hand on her chest. "Anne," she introduced herself and she tilted her head to ask for his.

The girl seemed somewhat distressed. Chéri furrowed their brow and titled their head briefly, before bowing with an excessive amount of grace and answered “Chéri.” Yes, that was his name. No, that wasn’t a name, but maybe Anne didn’t know that. “Chéri” and they gestured to imitate what she was doing, expressing indirectly their wish to learn.