Echoes of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  “Me eyes is playin’ tricks on me!” A tall man, reeking of gin, pushed the leader aside.

  Not to be outdone, a portly gentleman popped his head out of the melee and approached the girls. “Can I touch ye, see if you’re real?”

  “No, you may not.” Bethan held her skirts away from him and drew herself taller.

  “Aye, they’s tall, ain’t they? Could wrap those legs around me anytime. See if one of them won’t before the day’s through.”

  Derisive snorts of laughter followed his statement. He sidled closer to Bethan, and eyed her up and down. Loud enough for the French to hear in Calais, he yelled, “Care to follow me down to the ship’s hold, and hold this?” He put his hand on his bulge.

  Elunid advanced on them, fist in the air. “Clear off, shit wit.”

  “Ooh now! Fierce, she is. Mayhap I’ll take them both.”

  “Aye, for sure you got a way with women.”

  They’d circled the girls, and Bethan glanced at Elunid to see her reaction. So far so good, but she didn’t care for the turn this was taking.

  Just then, Reginald broke through the crowd. “Now, see here…”

  He stood in front of the men, wielding a knife.

  They dispersed, and the tall one mumbled, “It was love we was after, not fighting.”

  “Best of luck with that, Sir Uggers,” Reggie quipped. “Now, then.” He took off his hat and bowed to the ladies. “I’ve been around the world, and I swear I’ve seen nothing as lovely as the two of you.”

  Bethan couldn’t help admiring his grace and carefree attitude. Had she ever been so carefree?

  He took Elunid’s hand and kissed it, and she snatched it away. His eyes had gone dark as midnight.

  At his puzzled look, Bethan hoped he didn’t think her jealous when she said, “Elunid doesn’t like to be touched.”

  “Ah. What about you, Mistress Bethan?”

  She sputtered. What a question. “Oh dear, we’re late for tea.”

  “Yes.” Elunid took Bethan’s arm.

  “May I escort you? I’d not want you to encounter any more ruffians.”

  “We can take care of ourselves,” Elunid said.

  “I’ve no doubt, mistress, but I’d like to just the same.”

  “Shipwreck Hotel, then.” Elunid took the lead.

  “I have a proposition for you, ladies.”

  They turned to him as one.

  “No, not that kind of a proposition. How would you like to join the Wandering Wastrels?”

  Travelling the world with a ragtag gang of minstrels. What fun! Then she remembered who she was.

  “You’d cause quite a stir, especially if you could sing.”

  “Of course we can sing,” they chimed.

  “Lordy!” He laughed, showing perfect, white teeth.

  “Aye, but nay, I cannot go, for I must sew,” Elunid sang.

  “She cannot go, for she must sew,” the minstrel burst out in a loud baritone.

  Elunid hid her smile behind her hand.

  “Sounds like a fairly boring song, a song about sewing,” Bethan said.

  “What do you suggest we sing, my fair peacock?”

  Bethan blushed. “I said I could, I didn’t say I would. I’ve not sung in so long, I scarce remember any songs.” She was lying, of course. She remembered the words to every song she’d ever heard.

  “Why have you not sung?”

  She glanced at Elunid, who’d encountered Widow Jenkins and basked in her cooing praise. “I’ve more pressing matters to attend to.”

  Reggie nodded. “I see. Can you not sing a song now and then in these moments of—quietude?”

  “I cannot.”

  Nevertheless, he opened his mouth and began singing “Scarborough Fair,” only the words…

  “Are you going to swive me, my dear?

  In a bed of parsley and thyme,

  Remember me for one who swives well…”

  Bethan gave into his tomfoolery, Elunid following suite.

  Then Widow Jenkins descended on him, beating him about the head and shoulders with her gnarled fists. “Why, ye should be ashamed of yourself, knave!” She yelled between wheezes. “Just like you youngsters to make sport of such a grand song.”

  Reginald cowered with mock fear, collapsed to one knee, and grabbed her hand. “I beg of you, my beauty, please forgive me.”

  The widow opened and shut her mouth, then barked with laughter. She shoved him with surprising strength. “I’ve more important things to do than listen to your nonsense.” She smiled at the girls. “May you be doubly blessed this day, my girls.” She hobbled down the street.

  The three of them stood for a moment, until Bethan said, “I certainly hope I’ve such vigor when I’m her age.”

  Reginald grinned and tidied himself up. “Where were we? Oh yes, we were discussing the Wandering Wastrels, and how you’d like nothing more than to travel the world with us.”

  “We cannot,” they said in unison.

  “Then a song, please. ‘She Moved Through the Fair’?”

  She opened her mouth to sing, then shut it again. Why pretend she had a normal life? It would just remind her of what she’d given up when Elunid got sick. Besides, why enjoy something when it would be snatched away without warning? It made it all the more difficult when it happened, because this fine day would not last.

  “No.”

  Reggie sighed. “As you wish, my queen.”

  They continued their descent toward the docks and the Shipwreck Hotel; a crowd of onlookers followed them, eager for the spectacle, no doubt.

  They crossed Market Street and passed the apothecary shoppe. Maggie stepped out, holding the door open for Ian to come through with his rolling chair.

  “It’s a miracle his contraption fits through the door,” Reginald said. “Or yon Maggie.”

  Elunid giggled. Reggie stared at her, opened his mouth to say something, and closed it again.

  Then he smiled and eyed Maggie again. “She’s beautiful in a rather frightening mother bear way.”

  “Careful, she might hear you,” Bethan warned.

  “You’re quite right. The last time I commented on his wife’s beauty, I nearly got a fist down my throat.”

  “Oh dear,” Elunid whispered.

  As Maggie held the door open for her husband, they found he could not exit due to her immense belly.

  Reginald rushed over. “Here, Mistress Pierce. Allow me.” He held the door open for her, she nodded her thanks, and Ian wheeled himself out.

  “A pair of peacocks,” Ian exclaimed. “How magnificent you are!”

  Maggie held her belly, which to Bethan’s admittedly inexpert eye, looked as if it had dropped. “So alike you are today, exotic birds. Wherever did you get such dresses?”

  “I made them,” they both said.

  “No, you don’t mean it!”

  “Aye!”

  “You little minxes,” Ian exclaimed.” I cannot tell between the two of you. How extraordinary.” His gaze rested upon Bethan’s face. “Ah.”

  They shared a silent moment of communication, and Ian whispered, “I’m happy for it, Bethan.”

  Then he grasped Maggie’s hand and sang.

  “Come my beauty, sit upon my lap

  Why is it so hard for you to love this chap?”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “You know I cannot sit on your lap. I’ll break Henry’s fine chair. And have you not sung enough today?” She had the harried look of a woman who’d been tested to her limit.

  “I’m sorry, my love. As I can’t walk, I sing to calm myself.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  He kissed her. “You know I don’t blame you for it, Maggie. I’m alive, and with you.”

  Bethan suddenly felt like an intruder.

  “The man couldn’t be more besotted,” Reggie whispered. “And she must love him very much to tolerate his…eccentricities.”

  Much to Bethan’s surprise, E
lunid said, “Do you want a wife, Reginald?”

  He laughed shortly, then turned to Elunid, mouth working soundlessly for a moment. “I desire love, I love desire. And as it turns out, I’m on an eternal search for a woman upon whose shoulders depends the rising of the sun.”

  Elunid started. “The sun…”

  Bethan squeezed her hand in warning. “Oh my, Reginald. You don’t ask for much, do you?”

  “I’ve been all over the world and have never found her, so I can only surmise she doesn’t exist.”

  “I’m hungry, husband,” Maggie said.

  They made their goodbyes and soon arrived at the inn.

  Reginald bowed. “I must take my leave now, ladies. I pray you consider my offer to join our merry band.”

  Didn’t he realize how impossible the offer was?

  Just then, Charlotte exited the inn. “There you are, Reginald. I thought you were going to meet me here.” She pouted. “I had to eat alone.” She glanced at the twins. “Splendid dresses! Did you order them in London?”

  “No, we’ve not been to London,” Elunid said.

  Charlotte smoothed down the front of her lavender dress. “I had this made in London.” She peered up at them. “Where did you purchase them?”

  Bethan sighed. If she didn’t eat soon, she’d faint. And instinct told her the less Charlotte knew about them the better.

  “I made them,” Elunid said.

  “Perhaps you can make one for me.”

  “No,” Elunid said. “Only two in existence.”

  “I’ll pay you handsomely.”

  She flicked her eyes dismissively over Charlotte’s petite form. “I fear the dress would not flatter you.”

  Charlotte’s overflowing bosom turned red as a stewed tomato.

  “Come, Sister.” She tried to ignore the look of utter venom in the woman’s eyes.

  Bethan took Elunid’s arm. “Reginald, thank you for escorting us.”

  “A double pleasure for me,” Reggie said.

  Charlotte poked his arm. “You owe me an explanation, making me eat alone today.”

  Elunid shook her head as they watched the two head for the docks. “She’s got the choking kind of love.”

  “I won’t disagree with you, Sister. But why did you antagonize her? I’ll never understand you, not if we live to be a hundred years old.”

  “Oh, I assure you I won’t,” Elunid said darkly as they entered the inn.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  They entered the inn to the friendly clatter of a crowd enjoying their meal, and giggled nervously at the sudden silence and the sight of forks and knives in the air.

  “Land sakes!” Mrs. Reynolds, the short and very rotund mistress of the inn put her hands to her cheeks. “What have we here? You are most heartily welcome, my sweet birds!”

  She looked around her at the quiet room. “Now, don’t let my food get cold!” She motioned for the girls to follow her to a table by the window. Bethan’s stomach growled at the aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted chicken.

  “Ye look fair starving.” She snatched a plate of scones, clotted cream, and jam from the table next to them, much to the man’s surprise. “Here’s a bit to take the edge off.”

  Elunid took the seat with a view of the ocean. “It’s so clear today; I swear I can see France.” She generously buttered a scone, topped it with cream, and took a bite. She sighed loudly. Their fellow diners glanced up from their food, looking slightly scandalized.

  “These scones, so light!”

  “I agree. Delicious!”

  A movement outside the open window interrupted her reverie. Henry and George stood, close enough she could reach out and touch Henry if she desired. He wore a fine, gray waistcoat, sleeveless, with a blue necktie. A crisp, white linen shirt, rolled to the elbow, accentuated his brown, muscular forearms. Oh yes, she did desire.

  His clean jaw brought out the fullness of his lips. A single black curl lay on his forehead, making her long to straighten it to watch it spring back again.

  Young George was similarly attired. Henry smiled at him, and the sun lit his eyes, turning them to an autumn gold. He reached over and straightened the boy’s necktie. “Now George. As a lad of eleven, it’s important you learn the art of fine dining. Remember what we practiced?”

  The boy grinned. “Aye, Da.”

  “Let’s imagine I’m Lady Merry Cheeks.”

  Why would George ever need to know how to treat the aristocracy?

  George giggled as Henry simpered and curtseyed. “Begging your pardon, Da. I’m so hungry.”

  “One moment, George. Let’s imagine this fine lady.”

  Bethan giggled. Apparently this lady had a prominent bustle, for Henry, with not a care for who saw, stuck his backside out and pursed his lips as if he’d swallowed a green apple.

  George dissolved in laughter, bending over and holding his stomach. “Da!”

  As she watched the love shared between father and son, she felt as if her soul had taken wing, and she soared with the joy of it.

  “Okay, young George. Let’s imagine we all sit down to dinner. What do you do?”

  “Eat? I’m hungry, Da!”

  “No, lad. You pull the chair out for the lady and help her into her seat.”

  A pause. When nothing happened, Henry squeaked, “I’m ready to be seated, sir.”

  George giggled, covered his mouth, and jumped to action, pulling out an imaginary chair.

  “Night soil man’s lost his mind,” Mistress Reynolds said.

  Still, Bethan couldn’t take her eyes away from him.

  Henry batted his eyes, fluttered his eyelashes, and took his time sitting down, then smoothed his imaginary dress, and fanned himself.

  George laughed so hard he gasped for breath. “Oh Da! You’re splitting my sides!”

  “Push my chair in, if you please.”

  “There you go, madame,” George said.

  “My, my. Such a gentleman you are! You make my heart go pitter pat, you do. You may be seated now.”

  “Can we not sit for real, Da?”

  Henry ruffled the boy’s curly hair. “Are you ready to celebrate your birthday in style?”

  He put his arm around the boy and opened the door, motioning for him to go in first.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Henry and George entered the inn, the homey scent of cakes enveloping them and making Henry’s stomach growl. Mrs. Reynolds rushed over, plump and warm as the tea cakes she served. “Oh my, how handsome you two look.”

  Henry removed his tricorn hat and nodded. “Thank you.”

  Much to his amusement, George did the same.

  “It’s my birthday,” he said.

  “Well, a happy birthday to you, lad!” She enveloped him in a hug. “Must be the day for dressing up.” She cocked her head toward the bay window.

  Sweet Mary. He felt as if he’d fallen out of a tree and had the breath knocked out of him. There was an odd buzzing in his ears, like bees in a thicket. Her glossy chestnut hair swept up on her head showcased the radiance of her face. She met his gaze, and he reached into the twilight waters of her eyes. No matter the cost, he would do whatever it took to swim forever in those depths.

  “Eek!”

  He’d trodden upon poor Mrs. Reynold’s toes. “I’m so sorry, mistress.”

  Had Bethan seen it? Of course she had. His neck itched with heat as she grinned behind her hand. Years of having manners drilled into him by his family and she’d turned him into a schoolboy. He was supposed to be amusing her, not making a dolt of himself.

  Mrs. Reynolds led the way, limping a bit. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

  She led them to the table next to Bethan and Elunid, and the closer they got, the louder the buzzing in his ears.

  George stopped in front of their table. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

  He managed it so gallantly, Henry didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Who was teaching whom about proper etiquette? He’d have to de
pend on George for etiquette, for he could only gaze at her face, the apricot tinge to her cheeks, winged brows upon her smooth forehead, the regal grace of her neck, those white shoulders.

  George shook his shoulder. “Ahem!”

  Pull yourself together, man. “Good afternoon. Elunid, Bethan.”

  “How is it you can tell the two of us apart?” She had a look about her, as if she’d like to kiss him.

  It gave him courage. He’d never seen the dimple below her eye before, as often as he’d studied her face.

  He took her hand and kissed it, his lips lingering on her knuckle. “I would always know it was you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The pressure of his silken lips on her hand lingered long after he’d released it, and she tried to breathe; how awkward he must think her, to be so flustered by a man kissing her hand.

  Mistress Reynolds tittered. “I’ve a grand idea! We shall put your two tables together.”

  “Excellent idea,” Henry murmured, eyes dark with mystery, sending rivulets of chills down her spine.

  Although she couldn’t seem to break their gaze, Bethan felt the rush of air as a fresh tablecloth was put on the table, the clink of silverware as the table was laid, the absence of warmth as Henry released her fingers to sit down at the table opposite her.

  “Oh, this is a party, Da!” George grinned, eyes bright as beacons.

  “Happy Birthday, George.” Elunid smiled brilliantly.

  “Thank you, Elunid.” He blushed, peeking at her through lowered lashes. “You’re so bright today, like a rainbow.”

  “A double rainbow.” Elunid laughed.

  George said, “You are happy today. And it makes me happy too.”

  “It is a good day,” Elunid said.

  A rare day, fleeting, and meant to be cherished.

  “My son has outshone me in manners and charm today.” He grasped her hand across the table. “I was waiting for the right words to celebrate your beauty, but he has beaten me to it.” His eyes swept over her. “Not everyone could outshine a peacock, but you do.”

  “I…” And then her stomach growled.

  George giggled. “You sound like an angry bear, Miss Bethan!”

  “It was me,” Henry said.

  Very game of him, but he fooled no one.