Jillian Chantal

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

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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.

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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.

Today’s word for the writers of Tuesday Tales is chin. I am working –slowly– on my Regency-set novel.

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By the time Daniel arrived, he knew the ale house would be closed but he took the chance to ride by in case Brandy was still wiping down the tables. But it was dark inside the establishment.

He kept going, disappointed not to see her. It would have to wait. He put his hand in his pocket and fingered the chain he’d bought her, still wondering if the gift was too intimate.

A few stragglers walked down the street and ogled his horse. He didn’t like the look of them. Ruffians for sure. Leaning over Lightning’s mane, he whispered, “One last run and to the stables with you.”

His mount whinnied his consent to getting home and having his hay and warm bed. Just at the moment one of the scalawags reached for the reins, Daniel spurred Lightning on. The man fell to the ground, screaming out invectives. His friends yelled curses as well. In between laughter.

“Well, Lightning, it seems the man’s allies aren’t above making sport of their friend’s fall into the muck of the streets.”

They rode on. Daniel still regretting not getting back to the waterfront on time.

He rubbed his chin. “I sure do miss having my beard shaved daily. Maybe I should call in at the barber’s. Brandy might appreciate a clean-shaven man. He laughed at himself. Clearly, she put no store in a man’s beauty. Otherwise, she would have never looked twice at his scarred, one-eyed visage.

This week, the authors of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt, neck. I am still working on my Regency era story.

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Daniel rode on into the night, stopping to let Lightning drink from a stream periodically, but pushing the horse to go as quickly as he could. He wanted to arrive before the pub closed so he could see Brandy before she left to return to her rented room. If he did not arrive on time, he knew she would sleep until the early afternoon and he did not wish to delay his reunion with her for that many hours.

As the evening went on, he realized he might not make it. Drowsiness threatened to overtake him. He patted Lightning’s neck. “We might have to wait for tomorrow anyway, my friend.”

It was as if Lightning understood Daniel’s urgency had somewhat dissipated. The horse slowed.

Daniel laughed. “I did not mean you to stop, old boy. We still need to try.” His horse picked up the pace. The animal and he seemed to be of one mind most of the time.

A bit later, Daniel roused himself. Finding he had been dozing in the saddle, he looked up at the sky, trying to judge the time by the depth of the darkness. He could not see his timepiece in the dim light. “We may as well make camp, Lightning. It has to way past closing time by now. I will have to wait to see her. Besides,” he snickered, “Brandy might not want to see me, or should I say—smell me—with the sea air, salt water, horse flesh and sweat I am surely wearing under this coat.”

The horse whinnied as if in agreement. “You do not have to agree that I am pungent, you know. Part of it is you sweating too as we ride on.”

He glanced around to assess their location. They were actually pretty close to London by now, but he would still need to take Lightning to the stables before seeking out the pub. He did not like leaving the steed unattended in that area of the city.

Spotting a copse of trees that seemed like a good place to shelter, Daniel made his way there.

He patted the horse’s mane. “We will get a nap in and move on a bit later.”

“I don’t think so,” a voice behind them said. “I’ll take that horse and whatever coin you have.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt lazy. I am working on my Regency era tale.

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Captain Jones rode hard into the night. He was much later than he planned. The storm off the coast knocked his ship off course and it took all his crew had in them to fight against the angry waves and keep the ship upright through the gales.

Once the winds abated a little, they could see the shore, but they were miles off course from Plymouth. It was all he could do not to grit his teeth in frustration. There was a time in his life he would have welcomed the challenge of the weather, but this time, he wanted nothing more than to see Brandy. He had been gone from her for too long and he missed her shiny, dark hair and brown eyes looking at him as if he could do no wrong—even though he knew he was wrong to lead her on with no intention of making her his wife. How she could still want to be around him and spend time walking and talking when she knew his situation always amazed him. He knew it was not fair, but he could not resist the pull of seeing her.

When they finally made it to Plymouth, it was all he could do not to rush to the stables to retrieve his horse. He made himself wait while the cargo was unloaded before he made his way there. After all, his livelihood was that cargo, not a bar maid he spent his free time with. His men were not lazy at all, but it seemed as if they were taking more time than usual to remove the crates from the hold.

Darkness was quickly approaching by the time they were done. Jeremiah tried to convince him to wait until daylight to set out, but Daniel knew he would never be able to sleep anyway, so he decided to start out even though it was dangerous and highwaymen were most likely operating in the dark forests. He was a good shot and even better rider so he set aside any worries there and went to retrieve his horse. The one thing he kept when he left home was his steed from his army days. He and Lightning had been through a lot on the continent and he would never leave the animal behind. The creature was getting old, but he still had a lot of energy and loved to gallop like the wind.