Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt . I am still working on my Regency set story and I bet you thought I’d use rake as a noun with a reference to a dissolute person and I did use one of the definitions of rake (libertine) in my tale, but I used the past tense verb of raked as it fit better where I am in the story. In my mind, a Regency is a wealthy reprobate. The man in this snippet is a sailor.

Anyway, check out the other tales here.

Distracted by the events that just occurred, Jane didn’t pay as much attention to her surroundings as she walked on toward her rooms. She was more focused on where the man actually lived and why she had not seen him before than on the road ahead of her or behind her.

When her arm was grabbed, her heart leapt in her chest in terror and she whirled around. Her glance raked over the man, taking in his face, and realizing it was Johnny from the alehouse, she dropped the flowers and stomped on his foot. “Let me go, you libertine.” She shook her arm to try to free it from his grasp.

“Not until I get what I want. You’ve been teasing me for months, flouncing around the pub and swishing yer skirts, all the time sayin’ ye be spoken fer and yet, the man you claim is your man is never around now, is he? Just give in and let me make you happy.”

Jane attempted to tug herself away from the man, trampling on the wilted flowers as she did so, almost losing her balance in the process. “Even if the captain never comes back to England, I will never be the woman for you. I do not like you and you need to let me loose right now.”

Johnny leered in her face, his rancid breath of stale beer and dirty teeth overwhelming her. “You seem to think ye have a choice her, missy. I’m a fine seaman who can climb a mast with the best of them.” He flexed his free arm. “See my muscles? I could squeeze the life out of you.”

She gasped. An ice cold dread flowed over her. Was dying better than having him force himself on her? Yes. I will never let anyone do that to me again. Never.

Jane redoubled her efforts to get away from him and decided to make some noise. Even if no one came to her aid, maybe he would run away. She resisted his embrace and opened her mouth the scream but he clamped his hand over her mouth. His nasty, clammy, disgustingly dirty hand. She gagged against its stench.

“You need to calm yerself. You’re going to be mine. Here in the street or at your home. It’s up to you, but you have no choice here.”

Footsteps rang out on the cobblestones. Running footsteps. A savior?

Time for Tuesday Tales again. I missed the last two for various reasons I won’t go into here. This week’s word prompt is bauble. I am still in the Regency era book.

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The walk home was uneventful until she reached the crossroads a couple of blocks from her home. An elderly man stood on one corner and a young girl on the one opposite. The girl sang a song about a lost love as she held an almost empty basket of flowers. From where Jane was, they appeared to be wilted and sad. Jane’s heart broke for her. Having to stand all day and past midnight to try to sell enough flowers to eat was terrible. While she didn’t have much herself, Jane could not bear to see the child out working when she should be in a bed somewhere warm and cozy. With a full belly as well.

She crossed the road to give the girl a coin or two.

The old man she would have passed by if she had not been sidetracked by the girl, yelled across at her, “If’n yer gonna buy some dead flowers, lady, I got a bauble or two I can sell ye, too.”

Jane made the mistake of casting her eyes back in his direction.

He had opened his coat and exposed himself to her and the girl.

Forcing herself not to gasp and give the man the reaction he clearly wanted, Jane held out a coin to the girl. “How many will this buy?”

The girl giggled and handed her a couple of stems. “Ignore that old lecher. He lives across the way and stays inside all day and evening until he can come out and act the fool with any young ladies who walk past.”

“Does that not bother you? I mean him with his private parts out for all to see.”

“No. Not at all. I’ve seen better private parts on my baby brother.” The girl ducked her head but not before Jane noticed her grin at her own witticism.

Jane nodded and moved on with the flowers clutched in her hand, idly wondering why she had never seen either of them before. Surely she would have if the man truly lived on that street.

At the next corner, she glanced back. The girl had crossed the road and was laughing with the man.

Angry with herself for falling for the ruse the girl and man played on her, she almost tossed the flowers aside but decided at the last moment to keep them. No sense in wasting the coin they cost.

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt Pipe. Mine is still my Regency-set story. AND it is unedited so forgive me that.

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Jane tried to put Johnny out of her mind as she continued working but his constant stare was burning a hole through her clothing. She forces herself not to cast a glance in his direction and avoided the tables near him. Bessie did not seem to mind as the tables surrounding the place where Johnny sat with his friends had more occupants. Jane was sure Bessie was hopeful that those men would give her more coins than she usually received. Jane was not as sure about that.

Eventually, she found herself taking an ale order from an older patron. One she had never seen before.  He smiled at her when she returned with his mug. “I’ve been watching you. You seem to be a hard worker. Do you have a moment to talk to me?”

“Oh no, sir. I am not allowed to sit with the customers.” Unsure of what he might want, she took a step back and assessed him. He was well-dressed. Better than their normal patrons and he had a pipe on the table beside him. The brand of tobacco wafting from the lit bowl smelled like the brand her father used to smoke.

For a moment, she was transported back to better times. But just for a moment as a raucous noise behind her distracted her.

Two men brawled in the corner. As that was nothing new, Jane looked back at the man. “I better get back to work.  I see someone needs a refill.”

“Very well.”

As she turned away, the man said, “I have been searching for a man with a scarred face who wears an eyepatch. I have heard he comes here on occasion. Have you seen him?”

Jane stumbled as she lurched away, hoping the man did not notice. What could he want with her Captain? She did not answer.

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt cheese. I am still in my Regency set story.

check out the other tales here.

She made it to the public house a few minutes early. The owner looked up from the wheel of cheese he was carving. “I’m glad you’re here. Give this a try. It seems too crumbly to me even though it tastes creamy.”

Jane wanted to giggle. That was the way it was supposed to be, but she did not say a word since she was merely a bar maid and perhaps he would be suspicious if he knew she had it before. It was a staple at her mother’s home but she had not had it since she left. “Let me taste it.” She reached out for the small slice he laid on the flat of his knife. Savoring the little bite, she nodded. “Tastes delightful. It will be a nice change from the cheddar we usually serve.”

“I think it will be a success. The wife tried it at Borough Market two days ago and I sent her over there today to get some to see what the seamen think.”

“It’s lovely.” Jane walked over to where her apron hung beside Bessie’s and, taking it from its peg, she pulled the already-tied strings over her head. Grabbing her cloth, she wiped down the bar from the morning shift. As she worked, she could still taste the cheese on her tongue. It really was a delightful bite.

The place began to fill up and for the next few hours, Jane was busy delivering mostly ales but a few glasses of whisky here and there. She tuned out all the sounds other than shouts for refills and it took her a while to realize Johnny was there. The man who followed her home. It was as if he was staring a hole into her. The intensity of his gaze left her in fear. Her whole focus changed at that moment. How will I get safely home after the pub closes? He clearly is not going to take no for an answer from me.

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales have a word prompt again. I am working on my Regency era story.

Check out the other tales here

The next day, still feeling sorry for herself and how her life had changed, Jane walked to the ale house for work. The morning rain had almost stopped by the time she had to leave her small room, but there was enough drizzle in the air to make the trudge uncomfortable. To take her mind off her troubles and the rain seeping down the back of her blouse, she thought about the last Christmas her mother was alive and her brothers were home from the war. What she wouldn’t give for the warmth of the fire and coziness of the drawing room right now. The tiny fairy cakes her mother loved were always iced to perfection and if she focused hard enough, Jane could almost taste the sweetness of the sugar and feel the crunch as she bit into the concoction. She let out a deep sigh. A cup of syllabub would go down a treat as well.

“Stop. It is no use to dream. All that is over. Your life must go on and this is the only way.”

She passed a group of young boys, dirty, in ragged clothing, and probably hungry.  They jeered at her. “Off to serve the beer?”

Ignoring them, she kept walking. Every day they taunted her and every day, she let them. If they found joy in trying to get a reaction from her, they would not succeed making her temper rise. Besides, they were destined to earn a small wage as she did either as fish mongers or barrow sellers, so who was she to begrudge them a little harmless fun? Lord knew the people of these streets did not have much joy in their lives. She only had joy herself when her captain was in port and visited her.