Adam Monroe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
changehistory) wrote2008-03-29 09:51 am
changehistory) wrote2008-03-29 09:51 am
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[WM] 29.6 -- Willful
It's the set of her mouth that tells James something is amiss. Normally in motion, expressive, laughing, talking smiling, they're pressed together in a stubborn line that doesn't leave much room for negotiation. He wants to tell her from the wisdom of eight that at eleven years old, she's always going to have to be the one to negotiate, unless its with him and Stephen, who she can boss around as much as she pleases. He thinks about offering that, to placate her--dragging Stephen out into the garden in back and telling him they have to be soldiers guarding the Queen or some other dangerous game sure to get all three of them whipped if their father hears the word "Queen" cross their lips. But he's in the printing press, and so probably wouldn't hear over the machines, anyway.
"Come on," she snaps, before he can offer anything, however. He and Stephen both leap up obediently, but she gives Stephen a look. "You stay, Stephen. You can't come. You're too little."
His lower lip quivers, and James gives her an upset look, that she returns with a flash of growing impatience that he knows bodes ill for both of them if someone doesn't calm her down. "We're going out?" he asks quietly, and she nods curtly.
James kneels down beside the younger boy. "We're going over the wall," he whispers, with a cautious glance for their mother, who doesn't seem to be in hearing distance. "You don't know how to climb the tree, yet."
"Teach me," Stephen pleads, looking up at him, beseeching.
"I will, in the summer," James promises. "After you turn six. That's how old I was when Mary taught me, all right? But I've got to go with her or there's no telling what she'll do," he adds in a conspiratorial whisper, that the girl hears and gives him a scathing look for, but it makes the younger boy smile a bit.
"You won't be gone long?"
"We'll be back by tea," he says, another promise, this one a bit more rash because Mary's been known to keep them both out past supper, ensuring they got nothing but a whipping and bed for their troubles, but seeing his brother's eyes light up, James gives her a look that says he'll drag her home by her hair if she protests. She may be older, but he's nearly as big, and getting stronger. She sniffs, but for once, doesn't argue, and he takes that as a good sign.
With a kiss to Stephen's forehead, he lets her grab his hand and drag him downstairs and to the garden, both of them carefully skirting their mother, their nurse and the bond girl who helped with the heavy cleaning. The garden was quiet, only a few birds daring to be out seed hunting this early in the spring, but on the other side of the wall they could hear the sounds of the city.
"What happened?" he asks, frowning as he scampers up the tree to the top of the wall behind Mary, who can't seem to escape quick enough.
"Not here," she hisses, glancing back at the house, then dropping neatly down on the other side.
James' feet sting when they hit the uneven dirt, but he shakes it off and hurries to keep up with her. She's headed the opposite way down the back alley instead of straight to the street, and while that makes sense to escape detection, as they pass garden wall after garden wall, he's a bit more nervous about just how far they're wandering today. She doesn't move like she's just trying to get away. She has a destination in mind, he can tell, and so he sighs and hurries to keep up with her quick steps. Half way down the alley, she's lost her cap. By the time they reach the street, she's pulled her braids out, and her hair is falling loose down to her back.
"You'll never get it done back up," he warns. "They'll know."
"Let them. I don't care. Let them think I'm the most unsuitable girl ever. That would be better."
"Better than what?" he asks, confused.
Those lips press back together in a firm, narrow line, and he shuts up. Mary hits when she's mad, and pulls hair in generally unfair ways, and getting bigger or not, he knows better than to hit her back. So he goes back to trailing her silently, through alleys and out onto a street and it's a half hour before he realizes they've gotten to London Bridge.
"We're not going over?" he asks in a mix of wonder and horror.
Mary looks tempted, but finally shakes her head and scampers down an embankment to get closer to the water rather than cross the bridge. James follows until she finally plops down on a rock, and looking up he sees that other rocks along the bank are hiding them from view from above. He can still hear the noise of traffic, especially this close to the bridge, but looking around they could almost be in the country. He starts to ask her again what's wrong, but bites his tongue, waiting. She sits there, pale blonde hair flying loose in the wind off the water, blue eyes seeing something he doesn't as she stares fixedly across the water. Looking more closely, though, he notices a glitter in them, tears welling up. Throwing caution to the wind, he reaches to take her hand. "Mary...."
"The Talbots are coming for dinner, James." The words are slow, and he gives her an even more confused look.
"He's one of Father's main suppliers. They come for dinner a lot," he points out. Nothing to get upset about, in his opinion. They're usually fed dinner in the nursery when company comes.
"I'm to join them at the table." Her lips twist. "Looking my best."
"So?" Boring to be sure, having to listen to them talk business all night, or whatever adults talked about, but hardly the end of the world.
"Matthew Talbot wants a look at me," she snaps, looking at him with those tear bright eyes as if he's the stupidest boy in the world for not understanding what she's saying.
Feeling like an idiot, he gives her a blank look nonetheless.
She sighs impatiently. "He's looking for a wife."
"You're eleven," James sputters.
"I'll be twelve this summer, which is the legal age I can marry," she points out glumly.
"But no one does," he protests. "Only....farmers and peasants do that. In the country." It's all rather vague, what happens outside of their neighborhood, really, but he tries to sound like he knows what he's talking about.
"Even if they don't plan the wedding for a few years, the betrothal would be binding, legally, and Father and Master Talbot both think it would be good for business," Mary points off.
James stares at her, still in shock, then looks down to study the water, frowning. "You can't get married," he finally declares. "Not yet. What would Stephen and I do?"
Mary snorts. "He'll have you in the shop soon enough. You're almost big enough to be able to set type at least and run the ink. This year, next at the most."
That sounds infinitely better than lessons, so James doesn't let himself get too glum over it. "Well, still. You won't be around in the evenings."
"Don't worry," Mary says, with a sniff that says she's done crying,and a tug at her hand that says she doesn't need to be comforted by a little boy. "I'll fix it. I'm not marrying Matthew Talbot. I'm not marrying anyone."
Ever practical, James gives her a look. "You'll have to marry someone sometime, Mary. You're a girl."
"I will not," she vows fiercely. "One day I'm going to hop on a ship and sail so far away they'll never find me. To the colonies, maybe."
"They hang women there for being witches," James warns, "And not wearing their caps."
"Not Plymouth," she says giving him a look. "I'll go to....to Virginia. Or maybe? Maybe I'll go to the Indies where it's always sunny and warm and you can hear the ocean. And either way, I'll get my own plantation and be mistress of everything, and no one will tell me what to do again."
"You'd leave?" He was trying to be worldly, but he was eight, and the look he gave her, he knew, was more worthy of Stephen than someone of his age.
"You'll come with me," she promises. "You and Stephen both. We'll get so far away from the Puritans and England that they'll never find us, and the three of us will..." Her eyes widened with excitement. "We could be pirates in the Indies and carry all our wealth, stolen from the evil Spanish, back to our beautiful sugar plantation..."
James wants to point out that none of them had the first idea about boats or sugar or pirating, but what comes out is, "There aren't girl pirates."
"There was Grace O'Malley. I read about her in one of the books Mother keeps hidden."
Having no idea who said strumpet was, but she has to have been a strumpet, he figures, James keeps his mouth shut.
"She was a famous Irish pirate," Mary informs him, eyes sparkling with something more than tears now. "She fought against Elizabeth and ran her own land, and had lovers as well as husbands."
"She sounds horrid," James says, because he thinks he should, but secretly he's rather impressed.
Mary hits his arm, with a glare. "Don't say that. I'm going to be just like her when I grow up."
"You said she had husbands," James points out, rubbing his arm.
"But she chose them. Maybe a husband I chose wouldn't be so bad, if he let me be a pirate Queen, too. But not Matthew Talbot. I'm not going to be some...paper maker's wife and keep house for him and have his children and say 'yes' and 'no' and keep my eyes down and my hair covered all my life. I just ... won't."
"But it's what girls do, Mary."
"Oh, that's easy for you to say," she snaps. "You're a boy. You get to be anything you want to be. Matthew Talbot has buck teeth and spots, and he's already old."
"He's sixteen."
Mary makes an incoherent noise and leaps to her feet, glaring at him. "You're impossible. Just...impossible. I don't know why I even try talking to you..."
Watching her storm off, James contemplates letting her go, but before he can quite make up his mind consciously about it, he's on his feet, hurrying after her. "Mary....Mary wait up. I didn't mean it....You can be a pirate if you want to..."
"Come on," she snaps, before he can offer anything, however. He and Stephen both leap up obediently, but she gives Stephen a look. "You stay, Stephen. You can't come. You're too little."
His lower lip quivers, and James gives her an upset look, that she returns with a flash of growing impatience that he knows bodes ill for both of them if someone doesn't calm her down. "We're going out?" he asks quietly, and she nods curtly.
James kneels down beside the younger boy. "We're going over the wall," he whispers, with a cautious glance for their mother, who doesn't seem to be in hearing distance. "You don't know how to climb the tree, yet."
"Teach me," Stephen pleads, looking up at him, beseeching.
"I will, in the summer," James promises. "After you turn six. That's how old I was when Mary taught me, all right? But I've got to go with her or there's no telling what she'll do," he adds in a conspiratorial whisper, that the girl hears and gives him a scathing look for, but it makes the younger boy smile a bit.
"You won't be gone long?"
"We'll be back by tea," he says, another promise, this one a bit more rash because Mary's been known to keep them both out past supper, ensuring they got nothing but a whipping and bed for their troubles, but seeing his brother's eyes light up, James gives her a look that says he'll drag her home by her hair if she protests. She may be older, but he's nearly as big, and getting stronger. She sniffs, but for once, doesn't argue, and he takes that as a good sign.
With a kiss to Stephen's forehead, he lets her grab his hand and drag him downstairs and to the garden, both of them carefully skirting their mother, their nurse and the bond girl who helped with the heavy cleaning. The garden was quiet, only a few birds daring to be out seed hunting this early in the spring, but on the other side of the wall they could hear the sounds of the city.
"What happened?" he asks, frowning as he scampers up the tree to the top of the wall behind Mary, who can't seem to escape quick enough.
"Not here," she hisses, glancing back at the house, then dropping neatly down on the other side.
James' feet sting when they hit the uneven dirt, but he shakes it off and hurries to keep up with her. She's headed the opposite way down the back alley instead of straight to the street, and while that makes sense to escape detection, as they pass garden wall after garden wall, he's a bit more nervous about just how far they're wandering today. She doesn't move like she's just trying to get away. She has a destination in mind, he can tell, and so he sighs and hurries to keep up with her quick steps. Half way down the alley, she's lost her cap. By the time they reach the street, she's pulled her braids out, and her hair is falling loose down to her back.
"You'll never get it done back up," he warns. "They'll know."
"Let them. I don't care. Let them think I'm the most unsuitable girl ever. That would be better."
"Better than what?" he asks, confused.
Those lips press back together in a firm, narrow line, and he shuts up. Mary hits when she's mad, and pulls hair in generally unfair ways, and getting bigger or not, he knows better than to hit her back. So he goes back to trailing her silently, through alleys and out onto a street and it's a half hour before he realizes they've gotten to London Bridge.
"We're not going over?" he asks in a mix of wonder and horror.
Mary looks tempted, but finally shakes her head and scampers down an embankment to get closer to the water rather than cross the bridge. James follows until she finally plops down on a rock, and looking up he sees that other rocks along the bank are hiding them from view from above. He can still hear the noise of traffic, especially this close to the bridge, but looking around they could almost be in the country. He starts to ask her again what's wrong, but bites his tongue, waiting. She sits there, pale blonde hair flying loose in the wind off the water, blue eyes seeing something he doesn't as she stares fixedly across the water. Looking more closely, though, he notices a glitter in them, tears welling up. Throwing caution to the wind, he reaches to take her hand. "Mary...."
"The Talbots are coming for dinner, James." The words are slow, and he gives her an even more confused look.
"He's one of Father's main suppliers. They come for dinner a lot," he points out. Nothing to get upset about, in his opinion. They're usually fed dinner in the nursery when company comes.
"I'm to join them at the table." Her lips twist. "Looking my best."
"So?" Boring to be sure, having to listen to them talk business all night, or whatever adults talked about, but hardly the end of the world.
"Matthew Talbot wants a look at me," she snaps, looking at him with those tear bright eyes as if he's the stupidest boy in the world for not understanding what she's saying.
Feeling like an idiot, he gives her a blank look nonetheless.
She sighs impatiently. "He's looking for a wife."
"You're eleven," James sputters.
"I'll be twelve this summer, which is the legal age I can marry," she points out glumly.
"But no one does," he protests. "Only....farmers and peasants do that. In the country." It's all rather vague, what happens outside of their neighborhood, really, but he tries to sound like he knows what he's talking about.
"Even if they don't plan the wedding for a few years, the betrothal would be binding, legally, and Father and Master Talbot both think it would be good for business," Mary points off.
James stares at her, still in shock, then looks down to study the water, frowning. "You can't get married," he finally declares. "Not yet. What would Stephen and I do?"
Mary snorts. "He'll have you in the shop soon enough. You're almost big enough to be able to set type at least and run the ink. This year, next at the most."
That sounds infinitely better than lessons, so James doesn't let himself get too glum over it. "Well, still. You won't be around in the evenings."
"Don't worry," Mary says, with a sniff that says she's done crying,and a tug at her hand that says she doesn't need to be comforted by a little boy. "I'll fix it. I'm not marrying Matthew Talbot. I'm not marrying anyone."
Ever practical, James gives her a look. "You'll have to marry someone sometime, Mary. You're a girl."
"I will not," she vows fiercely. "One day I'm going to hop on a ship and sail so far away they'll never find me. To the colonies, maybe."
"They hang women there for being witches," James warns, "And not wearing their caps."
"Not Plymouth," she says giving him a look. "I'll go to....to Virginia. Or maybe? Maybe I'll go to the Indies where it's always sunny and warm and you can hear the ocean. And either way, I'll get my own plantation and be mistress of everything, and no one will tell me what to do again."
"You'd leave?" He was trying to be worldly, but he was eight, and the look he gave her, he knew, was more worthy of Stephen than someone of his age.
"You'll come with me," she promises. "You and Stephen both. We'll get so far away from the Puritans and England that they'll never find us, and the three of us will..." Her eyes widened with excitement. "We could be pirates in the Indies and carry all our wealth, stolen from the evil Spanish, back to our beautiful sugar plantation..."
James wants to point out that none of them had the first idea about boats or sugar or pirating, but what comes out is, "There aren't girl pirates."
"There was Grace O'Malley. I read about her in one of the books Mother keeps hidden."
Having no idea who said strumpet was, but she has to have been a strumpet, he figures, James keeps his mouth shut.
"She was a famous Irish pirate," Mary informs him, eyes sparkling with something more than tears now. "She fought against Elizabeth and ran her own land, and had lovers as well as husbands."
"She sounds horrid," James says, because he thinks he should, but secretly he's rather impressed.
Mary hits his arm, with a glare. "Don't say that. I'm going to be just like her when I grow up."
"You said she had husbands," James points out, rubbing his arm.
"But she chose them. Maybe a husband I chose wouldn't be so bad, if he let me be a pirate Queen, too. But not Matthew Talbot. I'm not going to be some...paper maker's wife and keep house for him and have his children and say 'yes' and 'no' and keep my eyes down and my hair covered all my life. I just ... won't."
"But it's what girls do, Mary."
"Oh, that's easy for you to say," she snaps. "You're a boy. You get to be anything you want to be. Matthew Talbot has buck teeth and spots, and he's already old."
"He's sixteen."
Mary makes an incoherent noise and leaps to her feet, glaring at him. "You're impossible. Just...impossible. I don't know why I even try talking to you..."
Watching her storm off, James contemplates letting her go, but before he can quite make up his mind consciously about it, he's on his feet, hurrying after her. "Mary....Mary wait up. I didn't mean it....You can be a pirate if you want to..."