FAIR NIGHT FOR FOUL FOLK (SERIAL) CHAPTERS SIX & SEVEN
FAIR NIGHT FOR FOUL FOLK (SERIAL) CHAPTERS SIX & SEVEN
Cover design: Corin Spinks. Portraits Alice and Pip: Heijo van der Werf
Background image: Lee Roberts (CC by-sa 2.0)
Chapters Four & Five can be found here: https://www.nilsnissevisser.co.uk/fair-night-chapters-four-and-five
WEDNESDAY 1 NOVEMBER 1871
Otherwhere
6. OTHERWHERE
WEDNESDAY 1 NOVEMBER 1871
Otherwhere
6. OTHERWHERE
Aliceâs dream was like a fever that coasted between prolonged scenes of vivid detail versus fragmentary detachment accompanied by a vague awareness of an otherwhere â in which she was asleep but restless, moved about again like a bale of bacca.
In the main she was back in Rottingdean, though there was a vast stretch of grim wetland at the seaward side of the village, instead of the small shingle beach and immediate presence of the sea.
Womenâs voice drifted over the strangely empty village. Neither of the two familiar from Rottingdean or Brighton.
âSheâs twelve."
So am I.
âZackly, and it didnât always make sense, to be honest.â
Nothing makes sense â which made sense because Alice was aware it was a dream. Her eyes soared over the rooftops in the manner of a Wind Readerâs and watched two small figures solemnly walking up a narrow path that led out of the village onto a hill slope.
âIn fact, somewhen she parleys like a regular little Owler chief, and I reckon sheâs as stubborn as a chief, sureleye.â
âI bainât stubborn.â
Nor am I. That is me down there, with Brax.
Brax had been a neighbour in Rottingdean and her best friend before he had been sent away to school on a scholarship.
The younger Alice below and Brax carried something between them â a small chest of sorts, but not with the exuberance they did when they played pirates and frolicked off to bury treasure.
I remember that. We were playing. Shortwhen afterâŚ
âThe girl be a proper little wildcat. She was about to tackle McFeck and his great big Scottish Sword with her hatpin.â
âMcFeck just now told me they were brave.â
That was nice of him. Brax had been nice too. We were playing funeral.
Brax had made the small waste wood coffin they carried after Alice had announced her intention to hold a funeral for Ebony.
A third womanâs voice joined the other two, shrill and plaintive.
âWhy canât Hastings and Rottingdean look after their own? We got enough trouble as it is taking care of our own.â
âBeing the pious church-goer ye are, Breksid, I would have expected you to be more familiar with what the Good Book has to say aboutâŚâ
Hastings? Brax is from Rottingdean, just like I amâŚwas...
Ebony had been Aliceâs fancy doll from France, which she had got from her father along-of being good on her sixth birthday. Three years later, the play-funeral in a copse of trees had been a solemn imitation of Aliceâs fatherâs recent funeral at St Margaretâs.
ââŚlike weâve known each other forever and longer. Mayhap it wonât hurt me to forge friends along the coast.â
âBettermost to trust naun at all.â
âZackly. Jess so.â
They had buried Ebony just after Aliceâs mum had broken the news that she was unable to pay their rent and they would have to move to Brighton.
Alice had been horrified by the notion that they would have to leave her dad in Rottingdean, cold and lonely beneath his gravestone. She had reasoned that if she buried Ebony nearby he wouldnât so alone. Besides, Alice hadnât wanted Ebony to live through the shame of having to move to the slums, with the threat of the workhouse a continuous presence. Ebony was a lady and wouldnât have liked the slums at all. It seemed silly now, but Alice vividly recalled the solemnity with which the two small figures below were laying Ebonyâs coffin to rest. It had been real enough.
âAsides, werenât ye busy enow forging friendship with Sam from the Old Bell?â
âCanât trust them Bell-Ends from the Old Bell. They got their end of town, we got ours.â
Alice looked down at herself and Brax, standing hand-in-hand by the hole in the ground into which they had lowered the dollâs small coffin. She remembered the words they had spoken, remembered from her fatherâs funeral.
"Ashes to ashes. Dust to Dust."
Why canât we be buried in the sky? Our coffins attached to a balloon to drift through the clouds, to disappear over the horizon â or ever upward, truly free of all land-bound worries.
âI wonât do that.â
âMum, who are you talking to?â
âNobody.â
Someone talking to a mother, but it wasnât Aliceâs mumâs voice. When they had been packing their meagre belongings for the move to Brighton, Aliceâs mum had asked about the expensive doll. Struck by guilt, Alice had lied and told her mum the Rozzer soldiers had taken Ebony, just as they had taken all valuables they could find after the shooting was done.
I Lied to Mum. I Lied to Mum. I LIED to Mum.
Alice wanted to cry. In her dream she squirmed with guilt and rushed to the copse of trees to claw at the earth. Hauling the small coffin Brax had made out of the ground, she opened the lid, gushing with relief at the notion that sheâd see Ebonyâs porcelain face appear. She then take the doll home to show her mumâŚbut it wasnât Ebonyâs face that greeted her eager eyesâŚ
âŚit was Billâs, mouth comically open in astonishment as he watched the gruesome mess of his shredded stomach. Alice was back on The Martlet, chased by the four killers. Once more she saw Hattie Tucknott and Brock as they were peppered by the Gatling. Then the Chopback on The Joseph Swaineâs deck, trying to stumble away from the flames that engulfed him, his mouth gaping in an agonised scream. Only this timeâŚthis time they were all looking at Alice with accusation in their eyes. Bill, Hattie Tucknott, Brock, the burning man. She could read no pain in those eyes, no disbelief or incomprehension. Just recrimination.
âŚyou did thisâŚyou did thisâŚyou did thisâŚ
âNO!â Alice shot upright. âYarr, I did. Oh no, noâŚâ
She was trembling again. Not because she was being shot at, nor the cold. Just that horrible dream and overwhelming sense of guilty failure. She looked around her in a daze of confusion, disorientated because she had no idea where she was.
Folding her arms around her chest, she tried to take stock. It was night still, but the room she found herself in was dimly lit by the stump of a flickering candle on a dresser, next to her battered top hat. The room was timbered and lacked straight angles, age having warped floor, walls, and ceiling to create a lopsided whole.
There were distant sounds coming from a lower floor. Voices, loud or laughing. Other voices united in a song, accompanied by musical instruments.
Oh for the love it
Oh for the hate of it
Oh for the âDamn nearly getting away with itâ
Oh for the sighing and the rueing the day of it
Oh for those Belles.
Were they above a tavern?
Ain't that always the way of it
Oh My! Oh I was taken in!
(Oh, all my eye and that Betty Martin!)
A man must acknowledge the wages of sin
And not blame those Belles for the mess that he's in!
Discovery followed discovery.
Alice was wearing a clean shift that felt smooth to the touch. She found herself in a warm bed with goose down mattress, crisp sheets, and a soft, thick wool blanket. She was clean. Her hands had been bandaged. Alice relished the touch of a cool ointment that soothed her palms. There were more bandages and plasters for the worst of the cuts elsewhere on her body.
Looking around, she could see another bed opposite hers, a mop of dark tousled hair on the pillow.
Alice was relieved Pip was here. Where ever here was, it was certain to be a long stride from everything that was familiar and known. Even though sheâd only just met him, Pipâs presence suggested a connection to the world Alice knew, not the flat wetlands where they had come crashing down.
Just then Pip started to twitch, moaning.
âPip!â
âNO! Harold!â
âPip, wake up, youâre dreaming.â
He began to trash about wildly. âHAROLD! NO!â
Alice lifted her covers, stepped onto the floor, and crossed over to Pipâs bed.
âHarold.â
âHush, Pip.â Alice sat down on the bed and stroked the boyâs hair. Shuddering with guilt again, she wondered if Harold had been the man on fire â had Pip watched his brother burn alive?
Itâs all my fault.
âPip, Iâm so sorry.â
âHuh? Quiddy? Whazmatter?â Pip seemed to waken in the same disorientation that still left Alice unsettled. He struggled to a seating position, the covers falling away to reveal his upper body, bandages bright against his bare skin.
âYou were having a nightmare.â
âLiss?â
âIâm so sorry.â Alice choked back a sob.
âWhat for? Where are we?â Pip was puzzled as he looked around the room.
âSinneport, I reckon. I donât remember naun after getting on Neevaâs horse. I just woke up now. But thatâs where they said theyâd take us.â
âTake us to Scylla the Mairemaid.â Pip shivered and Alice could feel a chill crawling along her spine. âThat man said she were going stake us out at Camber Sands!â
Alice considered this. âI donât reckon so, Pip.â
âWhy not? Scylla is half-Pook, bainât she? Sheâs got a cruel streak â drowns chavvies in mud be what folk say back home.â
Alice found it hard to explain. There had been promises of cruelty, but she suspected much of it in an exaggerated fashion. In her experience it was how some men talked.
Back in Brighton, she sometimes visited the police station below Town Hall to talk to Chief Willoughby about the Toffs from the fancy areas of town that she shadowed on his behalf. The constables at the station always talked in loud boasts. First Rate Constable Harding usually threatened to arrest her â even though Alice suspected he liked her just as much as she was fond of him. At any rate, when Harding had actually had an opportunity to put cuffs around her wrists for violating the Vagrancy Act, heâd cunningly made the evidence against Alice disappear â with a wink, grin, and friendly insult.
The Rottingdean Owlers were even worse. Hattie Tucknott had rarely issued a command without adding dire threats as to cruel and unusual punishments that would follow failure to comply in perfection.
âAye-aye, Capân,â whoever was crewing The Martlet would respond cheerfully with a wide grin, and that would be the end of it. If warnings or sanctions were in order, the skipperâs sharp tongue was all sheâd needed. Alice had seen big strong men like Bill cringe and shrink under a verbal lashing by the skipper. Alice had been at the receiving end of a few herself, when her mind had drifted off â away from whatever task Alice should have been focusing on.
She fought off a wave of renewed guilt. Apart from her dad, it was near impossible to image a better teacher than Hattie Tucknott. There had been a heart of gold beneath the skipperâs gruff manners and raw determination to get jobs done well. But it was probably better not to talk to Pip about Hattie Tucknott. Alice was sure she would cry. There was another explanation though, one that made sense.
âLook.â She showed Pip her bandaged hands and then pointed at a bandage on his chest. âThey cleaned us and dressed our wounds. Why do that if they planned to hurt us? This shift they put on me is a fancy one. Ever so soft.â
Pip looked down at himself, frowning. He peered beneath the covers and then threw them off in horror.
âWHY AM I WEARING-â â his voice broke and he finished shrilly â â-girlâs bloomers?!â
Alice couldnât help but giggle at his squeak. The bloomers seemed to match her shift as far as she could see in the dim candlelight, with frilly lace ends. âMayhap they didnât have boyâs stuff to hand.â
Pip frowned. âWho undressed â and cleaned me?â
âI donât know. Iâm sure it was someoneâŚ,â Alice paused, then mimicked Goody Tumtopsâs ancient voice, ââŚwho raised four strapping sons, lad, and who doubts ye got anything atwixtââ
ââYarr, yarr. Very funny.â Pip scowled, instinctively folding his hands over that part of his body. âIâm naun enjoying Romney Marsh much yetner, there be far too much undressing for my liking.â
Alice disagreed. She thought that part of the night at the Tumtops farm had been rather interesting, but of course she wasnât going to admit as much. âI reckon weâre as safe as can be, Pip. They bluv weâre Free Traders, you heard Neeva. This Mairemaid will help us get home, sureleye.â
âI miss home,â Pip confessed, lips trembling.
Alice was relieved she wasnât alone in that. She could well understand his strong yearning to be back where there was a sense of belonging and safety. Maybe she wasnât as cut out for the Free Trade business as she had reckoned herself to be. âOh, Pip! So do I.â
âI donât know how to tell my folksâŚabout Harold.â
Alice bit her lip. She had no idea how to bring such tidings herself.
âI know itâs silly,â Pip said morosely. âBut I just want him back. I want Harold to be alive.â He broke down in sobs, which grew into cries of anguish.
Alice didnât know what to say, so folded her arms around him instead. He crawled into her embrace, crying uncontrollably now. Feeling his shoulders quivering as the boy was racked with sobs, Alice could no longer keep her own eyes dry and started to cry as well. The tears flowed for Hattie Tucknott, Bill, Brock, the Hastings crew, the Frenchmen aboard the channel-runner, two fine sky-skiffs, a cargo-brig, a crop of lace, and poor Pip coming to terms with his brotherâs death.
It was all so unfair.
At long last the sobs stopped coming and their tears dried up. Alice felt much better for it, although it appeared Pip was embarrassed.
âIâm sorry,â he said in a small voice. âI shouldnât have cried. Men donât cry.â
âNonsense. You lost your brother, anybody whoâd naun cry over that be a monster, not a man.â
âDo you really reckon so?â
âI know so,â Alice said with all the determination she could muster. She gently untangled herself from their embrace and yawned. âI donât ken what time tis, Pip. But mayhap we should try to get some more sleep, if weâre to meet this Scylla later.â
âMayhap,â Pip said softly. âLiss, will you stay with me? Please.â
It wasnât proper but after all they had been through Alice reckoned that didnât matter. They were hurt, grieving, scared, and lonely. She answered him by lifting the bed covers and crawling beneath them. They snuggled up and, drawing comfort from each otherâs presence, were soon asleep again â much more peacefully this time.
Alice only woke the once before morning, or rather might have, because she wasnât sure. Perhaps she was dreaming when she perceived someone sitting on the side of the bed, and then a hand softly stroking Aliceâs forehead.
âMum?â Alice asked sleepily.
It wasnât her motherâs voice that answered though but another womanâs, one of the voices she had heard earlier,
âNo, my dear, but I could have been.â
The words were so nonsensical that Alice dimly reckoned she must have been dreaming. She snuggled tighter against Pip and drifted off again.
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WEDNESDAY 1 NOVEMBER 1871
Mairemaid Inn
Sinneport
7. INGENURIOUS YARN
WEDNESDAY 1 NOVEMBER 1871
Mairemaid Inn
Sinneport
7. INGENURIOUS YARN
âRise and shine, chavvies. Time to rise and shine.â
Alice opened her eyes to see daylight peeking in at the edge of the curtains of the roomâs window.
A woman walked into the ancient timber walled room, bearing a tray with two steaming mugs on it. She set the tray down on the dresser next to Aliceâs top hat and the now empty candle-holder, talking all the while. âThe cocks crowed more than an hour ago and ye have a busy day ahead of ye.â
Yawning, Alice was briefly puzzled by the unaccustomed warmth of another body close to hers. When she recalled who it was, the puzzlement was replaced by a strange contentment which she was loath to surrender just yet. She shut her eyes tightly and rested her head on Pipâs shoulder. He was still asleep, his chest beneath her hand falling and rising gently.
âWeâll have to decide what to do with the two of ye.â
Alice heard the woman walking towards the window, followed by the sound of curtains being drawn open.
âBut mayhap yeâll be wanting a heartyâŚoh!â
Alice opened her eyes to see the room lit up by daylight. It made it hard to distinguish the features of the woman standing by the window. For a moment, Alice thought it might be Neevaâs slim silhouette she was looking at, but the voice was different, familiar in some way â but lower and merrier in note.
âBy Geemeny,â the woman shook her head. âI see that ye decided to alter yer sleeping arrangements.â
Realizing how it might look, Alice quickly disentangled herself from Pip and sat up. Her sudden movement stirred Pip into waking, mumbling a protest.
âTis notâŚâ Alice said. âWe didnâtâŚâ The heat of a blush spread across her cheeks.
The woman laughed, a merry sound. âNo need to go a-flux-and-a-flutter, it bainât naun of my purvension.â
She walked toward the bed, allowing Alice to see more than just a silhouette. The woman had long ginger hair. There was a fine network of wrinkles around her eyes and mouth that suggested someone fond of mirth and laughter. Her scent contained a hint of lavender.
Alice shook her head. âIt werenât that. I was a-feared. I had a bad nightmare.â
Pip sat up next to Alice, looking at the woman curiously. âSo did I.â
âOh Geemeny,â the woman shook her head in sympathy. âWell it bainât a surprise that yeâve both been hag-ridden this night. Neeva told me what ye been through. Tis naun small thing to lose yer crew, nor to be chased and shot at.â
âNeeva!â Alice exclaimed. âIs she here?â
âNaun, she be out on an errand.â
âWhere is here?â Pip wondered. âWhere are we?â
âYe be in The Mairemaid Inn on Mairemaid Street. The bettermost establishment in Sinneport, even if I say so meself, sureleye.â
Alice became wary upon hearing the word âMairemaidâ. Who was this woman? Were she and Pip still among Free Trading folk? The Mairemaidâs Mudlarks? She had said she knew Neeva.
Light footsteps approached the room, accompanied by a cheerful voice. âI shouldâve known yeâd be nabbling away, Mum, while the chavviesâ tea gets cold and the other guests go hungry.â
Another woman entered the room, the spitting image of the first, other than that she was younger, short of twenty, Alice guessed, though she often found it hard to judge older folksâ age.
The young woman raised her eyebrows when she saw Alice and Pip together in the same bed but said nothing, instead making for the dresser to lift the mugs off the tray. She walked towards the bed with the still steaming mugs in her hands. âA fair morning to you. Liss and Pip, bainât it?â
Alice and Pip nodded and gratefully accepted the mugs of tea.
âGeemeny! My manners!â The older woman tut-tutted. âIâm Tess. Tess Hawkhurst. And this be my daughterââ
ââNell,â the younger woman introduced herself. âLikewise a Hawkhurst.â
âKeepers of the Mairemaid Inn,â Tess said.
Alice opened her mouth to ask a question but Tess shook her head. âThat also means weâre busy folk. Iâm sure ye have a dunnamany questionsââ
âHowsumever,â Nell interceded. âThem that ask no questionsââ
ââisnât told a lie,â Alice and Pip responded simultaneously. It was a Free Trade saying, meaning the less anyone knew the better.
âCome downstairs to the taproom and yeâll get some breakfast. And mayhap at least some answers.â Tess smiled.
âYer gear were brought in last night,â Nell added. âSlabby, cut about, and tore. Tis been washed already but needs a touch of repair. So yeâll have to wear Master Tumtopsâs shirts a while longer.â
âTaproom,â Tess said. She did so in a friendly manner, but it was unmistakably a command nonetheless. âDown the stairs, turn right and itâll be anigh. Yeâll find it soon enow. Dappen ye finish yer tea.â
The taproom wasnât hard to find on account of the hum of multiple conversations. It was a large room with a low, beamed ceiling. An immense hearth took up almost all of one wall, a small fire crackling in the middle of it.
Daylight filtered in through leaded windows. The timbered walls were martial in nature, sporting a great many arrangements of old-fashioned cutlasses, axes, handguns, muskets, and rifles, most of which had clearly seen a lot of use.
Almost all the tables were occupied. Tough and rough-looking men and women, boasting and jesting while they paid honour to mouth-watering breakfasts. One corner was occupied by a different type of folk, dressed in a confusion of styles. Some had strangely shaped cases with them and Alice guessed they were the musicians sheâd heard deep in the night when sheâd woken up.
None of them gave Alice or Pip so much as a look which suited Alice just fine. Back in Rottingdean she had shared similar establishments with rough folk without hesitation, to debrief after a run out over sea, or plan a route over the byways of the South Downs and Weald for the land-run of a crop.
This was different though. The Rottingdean folk had known her from birth. Here she didnât know anybody â although she suspected those here who were not musicians were likely to be Free Traders. Theyâd be the Mudlark strongmen and batmen, tasked with guarding landings, land-runs, and storage. Some were probably the folk she had encountered in their disguises the previous night.
Alice wondered, with a small grin, how many of the antiquated guns on the walls were in prime order, loaded and ready for use.
Pip seemed relieved to be ignored as well but probably for a different reason. He kept on fidgeting with his make-shift clothing, pulling up the legs of the bloomers because when the legs were properly down their frilly lace hems were visible below Mus Tumptopsâs shirt, much to Pipâs embarrassment and Aliceâs bemusement.
âDonât worry,â she whispered to him. âYour legs look purty .â
He frowned at her in response before they made their way to the only empty table, a small one on the far side of the taproom. They sat down next to each other on the bench by the wall, huddled close together. Alice didnât take her top hat off, feeling more comfortable with it on.
Two women strode by with piles of empty platters in her hands. One was a sturdy elder, with a grumpy face, the other Nell, who smiled at them. âBe right with ye dappen Breksid and I are done with this lot.â
âIâm hungry,â Alice told Pip. His belly rumbled in response and they shared a laugh at that.
A heavy-set man ambled over to their table, his cheeks half concealed by dark stubble as long as his cropped hair, his eyes sparkling with merriment. He pulled up a chair and sat opposite them, then leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner, his face animated with mischief.
âGuid morn, bairns. Sleep well? Ah was thinkinâ, yeâll be wantinâ a guid cover story. Sae as nae tae draw undue attention tae yerselves.â
âMus McFeck!â Alice said.
âOch aye, whae did ye expect? The Tippoo Sultan?â
Nell appeared with platters laden with bread, fried eggs, mushrooms, bacon, and sausages.
Aliceâs eyes grew wide, she rarely saw such abundance. Pip was also staring at the food in longing amazement.
McFeck said, âSae, aboot those guid stories. I bin thinkinâ, thinkinâ hard.â
âThinking hard, have ye?â Nell set her burden on the table and indicated that Alice and Pip should help themselves. She pulled up a chair and sat down next to McFeck. âDid it hurt yer head?â
âOch aye, a wee bit.â McFeck nodded bravely. âBut I have a braw story.â
Neither Nell nor McFeck seemed interested in breakfast, so Alice and Pip began to eat ravenously.
âThe bairns will hae tae be called Joe an Josette. The story plays oan the rivalry atween two toowns, baith alike in dignity. Proud Hastings an Bonnie Rottingdean, whaur we lay uir sceneââ McFeck had started to gesture to emphasis his tale, but stopped, looking at Alice and Pip with wide eyes. ââWood ye look at those bairns eat? Oonly a wee bit ago they waur close to death, no mair than a pair ay sodden bilge rats. Luik at them noo! Eatin enough to fill several coos, an they hae four bellies!â
âTis a bettermost sight,â Nell agreed. âYoung ones can be quick to bounce back. Parley some more about Proud Hastings and Bonnie Rottingdean. I were enjoying yer tale boco .â
âAh shall, Nellie, as ah waur no finished yet. In the shadow ay ancient grudges atween those two toowns, new mutiny arose when tender but furbidden love blossomed.â
Alice frowned, but was too busy devouring a sausage to respond.
âLike the darling buds of May?â Nell asked coyly.
âA poetic ring that has, Nellie, sae aye, jess loch that. Not bad fur a Sassenach.â McFeck beamed. âUir pair ay star-crossâd lovers, fair Josette an âer handsome Joe, were furbidden by their elders tae be taegether sae they hatched a cunninâ plan tae escape an start a new life.â
âWeâre not!â Pip said between mouthfuls, blushing. âWhat you said we are.â
âHush, lad. Tis but a wee tale. Sae Josette an her Joe borrowed a ship an sailed away, but alas! They waur sae engrossed in the sweetness ay each otherâs lipsââ
âEuw!â Alice protested.
McFeck ignored her and continued. ââthat they failed tae spot the stoating big whale that swam reit through their ship. The ship sank jess aff uir bonny swamp. The young lad an lassie waur captured by unsavoory natives, loch young Nellie here. The natives waur delighted, beinâ the mud-bound cannibals they waur. Their oonly hesitation waur havinâ tae decide whether tae cuik the star-crossed lovers fur breakfast, or cuik them fur supper. In the end, the muddy natives were well-fed an neâer was a story ay mair woe than thes ay fair Josette an her handsome Joe.â
He looked them at expectantly.
âA whale?â Pip asked doubtfully.
âWeâre naun star-crossed lovers,â Alice said crossly. âAnd weâd make a poor meal.â
âAn ingenurious yarn, this tale of yers,â Nell said, âhowsumever, parts of it sound a mite familiar.â
McFeck was indignant. âDae ye take me fur a dishonest bodie? Are ye suggestinâ ah woods borrow another manâs words? Ye forgit that weâre maur than jess born warriors in the bonny homeland, weâre poets an all.â
Nell laughed, an infectious echo of her mum. âNay, McFeck. I dursnât. My poor mind must be in a mizmaze, that be all.â
âWhere is your homeland, Mus McFeck?â Alice asked. âFrance? Flanders? Holland?â
Most of the foreigners she knew hailed from there and they spoke similar gibberish, although she was beginning to understand McFeck a little better.
âFRANCE?â McFeck looked horrified. He glanced at Nell as if inviting her to join his shocked incredulity.
âQuick, fetch a doctor. The lassie may hae a brain-fever. France she says! Holland she says!â
âFlanders then,â Pip suggested, before tucking into his eggs.
âFlanders he says! Alas! The swamp has tooched the bairnsâ brains. Ahm afraid the rot in their heads is tay fur gain tae save them. Best take them ootside an drown them in the harbour, it beinâ the most merciful thing tae dae. Tis high tide still, a guid time fur a wee bit of drowninâ.â
âMcFeck hails from Scotland,â Nell told the children. âHeâs a proper Scotsman, all-along-of which he appears as daft as a Moonraker otherwhile.â
âScotland!â Alice exclaimed. âI reckoned Marsh Folk werenât much fond of outlanders.â
âYe be right.â Nell grinned. âWe proper dislikes half of âem, hates the other half, despises the lot of âem, and trust naun of âem. Howsumever, we took pity on poor McFeck here, all-along-of him hailing from such a savage and primitive land. Tis unaccountable, but it werenât Christian charity to send him back, sureleye.â
McFeck made to protest but they could hear Tess calling Nellâs name before he had a chance to.
Nell stood up, brushing her hands on her apron. âIâd bettermost get back to help Mum in the kitchen or thereâll be hell to pay.â
Alice leaned back, her appetite satisfied and her tummy full. Pip was still picking at his plate, but with less relish now. Some of the other occupants of the taproom started to depart. Others produced coins, cards, and dice which they laid on the tables. A few lit pipes.
The musicians were filing out past their table. Alice stared in awe at one of them, a woman wearing a black skirt but otherwise entirely dressed in a gentlemanâs business suit. Her hair was done up in twin coils that curled in perfect alignment with the curve of the top hatâs brim.
The woman saw Alice looking at her, and smiled when she saw Aliceâs own â far less impressive â top hat. She raised a hand to touch the brim of her hat, and Alice quickly did likewise, pleased with their exchange.
âWhae be a Moonraker?â McFeck asked.
Alice laughed. âThat were in Rottingdean, somewhile ago. Three Owlers had sowed a crop of Geneva in the duck pond behind the Plough Inn, all-along-of the Queenâs Men having a coke round the village. When the Owlers thought the coast was clear, they grabbed rakes to retrieve the tubs from the pond but just then the Queenâs Men returned.â
âCaught red-handed,â Pip said.
âAlmost,â Alice replied. âAll-along-of the crop still being below the water. Still, it were a strange thing to be doing, raking a pond, so the Queenâs Men demanded to ken what the men were up to. The Owlers put on their most ardle-headed faces, a-two of them with their mouths hanging open stupidly, and the third telling the Queenâs Men that they were hungry. He pointed at the reflection of the moon in the middle of the pond and said they were trying to retrieve the big yellow cheese from the pond so they could eat it.â
âAnd then?â Pip asked.
âThe Queenâs Men left, shaking their head at what chuckle-heads the local yokels were. Afterwards, the three Owlers were dubbed âMoonrakersâ by the village in honour of their deedy cunning.â
âAh donât mind beinâ called a Moonraker then,â McFeck said. âAh thooght it was mair loch Mike the Mucker, back haem. A wee bit simple in the head, and one day he waur found spreadinâ manure roond the kirk tower. He said it was tae encoorage the tower tae grow taller.â
Alice laughed, before asking: âIs it really primitive and savage in Scotland, a-like Nell said? I bainât never met a Scotsman before.â
McFeck looked aghast. âScotland is the bonniest country in the whole wide warld. Ah reckon the savages are those whae mistakenly think their flat mudlands are something braw tae swatch at.â
âThen why did you leave?â Pip asked.
âA tragic tale âo woe,â McFeck assured them. âTae dae with an unfortunate misunderstandinâ regardinâ some coos.â
âCoos?â Pip was puzzled.
âMooh,â McFeck clarified.
âMisunderstanding?â Alice narrowed her eyes.
âThe puir beasties waur in dire need ay some fresh air an exercise. Ah was oonly takin them fur a wee stroll. Twas frae the goodness ay my heart, but sadly, nobody would believe me. Sae ah deemed it wiser tae make mahself scarce.â
Alice grinned. She looked at her empty plate. It had been a fine breakfast and McFeck pleasant company, but the time had come to contemplate more serious matters.
âMus McFeck,â she said. âWe need to get back home. To Rottingdean and Hastings. We have to tell our folk what happened. To warn them, or more of our Night-Fliers will die.â
McFeck leaned back in his chair, looking at her thoughtfully. âI think you know the answer to that, lass. It isnât a decision I can make. Weâre all under the orders of Scylla here.â
Alice stared at him. His pronunciation had still sounded strange to her ears, but his talk had suddenly been bereft of the foreign words he used.
Pip came to the same conclusion. âYou can speak English!â
âOf course I can, laddie,â McFeck answered, then grinned. âWhen it suits me.â
âBut thatâs naun fair,â Alice complained. âThatâs trickery!â
âIs it now?â His eyes sparkled mischievously. âYet I am called McFeck by day and McFeck by night. Iâll answer to no other name. Tell me, are your names truly Liss and Pip?â
Alice wasnât going to answer that. âStill naun fair.â
McFeck laughed. âThose from Kent, the Marsh, and Sussex should be wary of accusing others of being duplicitous, âLissâ. With your Free Trade code names and disguises, hiding one personality by playing at another. Then thereâs those who take that a step farther. Youâre all lucky to know who you are at all when you look in the mirror.â
Alice had to concede he had a point. She herself was Alice Gunn in Brighton, Alice Kittyhawk in Rottingdean, and had once been Liddle Hawkeye up in the sky but was now simply known as Liss among Free Traders. The South Downs Chapter of the Sons and Sisters of Steam called her Sky-Girl and the Brighton constables Miss Nosy.
She shrugged. âI have to get back to Rottingdean. You tell me Scylla will decide, but when do we get to meet her?â
McFeck looked at Pip. âYouâve caught a feisty one in your nets, laddie. You may want to consider throwing her back into the sea, maybe catch something tamer.â
âHeâs caught nothing in his nets,â Alice corrected him. âWhen do we see Scylla?â
McFeck stood up, towering over the table. âIf itâs the Kelpie Quine ye be wantinâ tae meet, lassie, then thatâs whae yeâll be meeting. With a wee bit ay luck, sheâll put the both ay ye out ay yer misery tae cure ye of yer impatience.â
âWhen?â Alice pressed him.
âNow. Follow me.â McFeck turned and strode out of the taproom.
Alice and Pip scrambled up and followed him.
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Enjoying the read? Please leave comments at https://www.facebook.com/smugglepunk/
Chapters Eight & Nine can be found here: https://nilsnissevisser.co.uk/fair-night-chapters-eight-and-nine
OVERLAP WITH WAGES OF SIN
OVERLAP WITH WAGES OF SIN
By sheer coincidence the novella WAGES OF SIN takes place during chapter six of FAIR NIGHT FOR FOUL FOLK. Alice and Pip make a brief appearance, but are asleep through most of it. The story is told from Tess Hawkhurst's perspective, and reveals quite a bit of the backstory of Alice's connection to Sinneport. It also reveals just how close Alice and Pip got to being murdered in their sleep that night...
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Wages-Sin-Tale-Dark-Design/dp/1916234259/ref=sr_1_1
Amazon COM: https://www.amazon.com/Wages-Sin-Tale-Dark-Design/dp/1916234259/ref=sr_1_1
WAGES OF SIN EBOOK CONCEALED IN...
WAGES OF SIN EBOOK CONCEALED IN...
WAGES OF SIN will not appear as Kindle E-Book. However, the story is contained in the Kindle version of THE TALE OF THE RED QUEEN & OTHER STORIES Anthology.
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Tale-Red-Queen-Other-Stories-ebook/dp/B088DF4W1L/ref=sr_1_1
Amazon COM: https://www.amazon.com/Tale-Red-Queen-Other-Stories-ebook/dp/B088DF4W1L/ref=sr_1_6