A Message

[Renate MacGregor]

((2am, September 20))

It was late. Too late to be outside, at least. And outside a chilling autumn wind swept through the dirty streets like a tax collector, taking the warmth and color comfort from everyone and everything. It wasn't snowing but the threat of colder weather and icy sleet was in the bite of the wind and the way all day the sun had hardly been able to reach the streets. The girl that walked through Spitalfields had decided weeks ago that she hated London winters and always, always would.

But right now the girl that struggled against the wind toward the door of the Ten Bells wasn't thinking about weather. She wasn't really thinking of anything but how the warmly lit pub seemed like a haven and a sanctuary. And while she didn't look forward to her task at all, at least it would take her for a short time out of the cold.

Renate had her fiddle case strung across her back and as she hurried it bumped painfully against her lower back and shoulder blades. She looked wretched, and seemed like an entirely different person than the one that stood up on stage three nights a week and wore a spangled costume. Her once-sturdy boots were falling apart and her thick wool shawl had a few holes that were many times repaired, and her cheeks were chapped by the wind and very red. Where her hair had been pulled from her cap by the wind it was tangled and wild looking. And her eyes were wild too. They matched the racing of her heart and the fear pounding in her temples. The moment her hand touched the door she wrenched it open and threw herself inside with the graceless movements of someone in the grip of some extreme emotion.

The way she stood trembling in the doorway and looked with huge, wide eyes at the uncaring faces around her made it perfectly clear what emotion that was. Some of the people looked over with curiosity, but most just turned back to their pints or card games. Renate swallowed and looked a bit sick.

[N.P.C.]

A girl. Agitated. Pretty. Running from something? Perhaps. Tattered clothing, but a fiddle case, so possibly something of interest. Worthy of attention? Nathaniel looked around the room again, taking in the faces, the level of conversation and coming to the conclusion that it would be a dull night. Yes, worthy of attention.
Locking eyes with Mullins, who had evidently had a similar idea, he glared, letting Mullins see his right hand stroke his left sleeve, where Nathaniel's lethally sharp blade was usually concealed. After a tense moment, the younger man grimaced and looked away and Nathaniel glanced around again, noting smugly how their brief exchange had gone almost entirely unnoticed.
Standing, he casually made his way over to the girl in the doorway, a friendly expression on his leathery face. He looked harmless enough, a small, shabbily-dressed old man, with a broad smile and a twinkle in his eyes. "Nath'niel Clay, gel. Ye look cold. Fancy s'm gin?"

[Redjack Ryan]

As the ginger-haired fellow slid up behind her, it was almost noiseless. Redjack had a maddening habit (or at least so Lily and Liz and quite a few other girls had called it) of appearing seemingly from nowhere, and this time was no exception. With one fluid motion, he interposed himself between this newcomer girl and the man. As far as he'd seen, the fellow hadn't done much wrong yet, but he was a man, and he was talking to a nice-looking young girl, and this was the Ten Bells; and if that weren't enough to warrant suspicion, nothing in God's world was.

"Mr. Clay then," he responded with a wide grin, and extended his hand in greeting. "Good to meet you, the name's Redjack Ryan. Don't s'pose this young lady's in th'mood t'make anyone's acquaintance tonight, am I wrong, Miss?" He flashed the girl a grin that was cheeky at best, astoundingly presumptuous at worst, and reached out to take the other man by the arm. "Come now, I'll buy ye an' yers a round..."

[Renate MacGregor]

"P-please..." Renate looked almost shocked to hear the plea spill from her lips. She hadn't meant to speak, much less cry out so desperately. At least...she hadn't planned to. But the severity of her situation made her do more-it made her reach out and take the red-headed man's sleeve between her cold and stiff fingers and pluck at it lightly.

"Please...please, I have to..." she chocked, she couldn't go on. It was too strange and too shocking..and all she wanted to do was go home and curl into bed with a log in the grate and try to forget. She could think about Papa or the way Mister Lindsey had touched her hand, when last they'd walked... but her hand grasped harder at the younger man's sleeve as she tried to avoid the eyes of the other. She didn't know what strange code the two men were speaking. She only wanted to go home!

"I...I have to find someone. A woman. A...a..." she couldn't manage the word. "A...you know. A...err." Her cheeks were red now and not just from the better cold that had battered her so. "I've a message, you must help me, please..." She wanted to turn around and leave and forget it all...but there were whispered threats still making her shiver that kept her desperately trying.

[Redjack Ryan]

At first, he listened with slack-jawed anxiety. Leave it to him to pick out some girl whowas already running from something, to help her. Fate seemed to conspire against her, and moreover against Redjack himself. For he had a great nose for trouble, and trouble was one thing that seemed to radiate from the girl in waves.

Still, as she got past her initial spluttering, the Irishman's face broke into an expression of merriment. The sound of such eloquent speech in the Ten Bells was amusing enough in itself to warrant laughter, and the idea that the girl now looked up at him as though his sole purpose was to help and protect her stirred in Redjack an almost involuntary response of laughter.

"Well, dear, if ye've got a message as ye say, ye'd best shut that fine mouth o' yers if ye ever want'a see it delivered." He gave her the sort of look a father might use to reprimand a child who'd eaten too many sweets and was suffering of an upset stomach. "En'case ye've not noticed, here's no place fer gentles, and ye sound t'be th'gentlest gentle what's come ent'this ken in quite some time."

Seeing the look of confusion that crossed her face, Redjack cleared his throat lowly, and added under his breath, "In other words, set with me a bit, pretend to be a whore, an'hope nobody notices ye, an'we'll get this message o'yers delivered. We might be able t'keep ye alive, at that." He smiled widely, revealing a broken row of gleaming white teeth.

[N.P.C.]

A hard look flashed behind Clay's eyes for a split second as he watched the younger man slip past him, seeming to have half-gained the girl's trust with just a few words. The pickings were getting leaner as Clay was getting older, and he'd rather not have any real trouble. Not here and not now.

Raising his hands helplessly, he took a step back, apologising. "Sorry, sir. Real sorry. Di'n' mean te get in yer way. I'll jes' be goin' now..." He half-turned then hesitated, "I am sorry, gel. But fer you, not him." He shook his head sorrowfully, taking another step away. "Think ye'll be safe do ye? Ye poor fool. No' wi' him. Oh no. Lis'n to what he says and asks. D'ye really trust him enough to follow him? Trust him wi' ye life?"

With that last, Clay walked away, shaking his head again, walking slowly back to his table, to sit down again, pity in his eyes whenever he looked at her. Inside, of course, petty vindictiveness reigned, as he thought of the trouble he'd caused that little upstart. That'd teach him to step in between a man and his rightful prey. Even so, he was sorry to have turned down that drink...

[Renate MacGregor]

Sit and pretend to be...a what?! Had the man really just said that to her? Importuned to imitate some..some fallen woman? Did she really look so low? Renate sputtered for a moment but she sat down in mute shock at what had just happened. For some reason something prompted her to put herself in the Irishman's hands. It wasn't just because his accent reminded her rather painfully of her home. No...she didn't know why. Something about the confidence he moved with. He felt like he'd take care of her.

...until of course the first man who'd spoken to her spoke again. He put a chill all the way though her. She turned to face Clay slowly as if she was having trouble moving her neck. But when she did face him her eyes were wide with terror.

"Muh...my life?" her voice was a tiny thing and seemed to come out as a tiny whimper. She turned stiffly to look at Ryan again with doubt and paranoia written plainly on her face.

"You...why does he say such things?"

[Redjack Ryan]

His normally affable expression faded only slightly, but he suddenly had great cause to dislike this man. Nevermind that with only a snap of his fingers Ryan could have easily had him turned out, something like that wouldn't serve to strengthen his position with this young lady. Just why he cared was another question entirely, but Ryan had always had a soft spot for damsels in distress. Most of the time. Sometimes.

Nonetheless, when he looked back at Renate, he was as calm as can be, no untoward emotion betrayed. "Don't know what 'e means t'say, I've never met this gennelman in me life, an' I don' suspect'e has yer best int'rests at heart, lass."

He paused, only long enough to punctuate his sentence with a glare in this "Mr. Clay's" direction.

"I've no intention o' leavin' this place wit'ye, or o'lettin' ye come t'harm, but I know a body what needs help when I see it; an' if ye trust that bloke over me, I don' know f'r sure, but I reckon ye'd be makin' a mistake."

[Renate MacGregor]

For a moment the girl was still and her eyes moved over Redjack's face searchingly. He seemed honest enough. This place was so strange and foreign to her-even more so than the places she'd played at before-that she wasn't sure if his honest face even meant anything. But he'd promised not to take her anywhere or let anyone hurt her. Her eyes went to the other man and back to Ryan...

Well, at least he isn't aged and ugly.
She blushed at the thought. Was she really so fickle as that? But finally the blonde nodded and settled into her chair. She was still shaking a little but tried hard to appear calm. She gulped in deep breaths desperately and tried to keep from stammering long enough to get a few sentences out.

"I...thank you. Truly, sir. Thank you. I...I didn't want to be here. I was told to come. I..." she took a deep breath. "I have to find a woman. I was told she'd be here. "A..."
It was too hard to saywhore and she was too flustered to think up a euphamism. "A woman with red hair, and I..." the severity and hopelessness of her task finally hit her and Renate hugged herself desperately. "Oh god, I've no idea how I'm meant to go about it!"

[Redjack Ryan]

The Irishman's mouth quirked up into a wry smirk. "Well, if ye were tole she'd be here, all ye c'n do is wait, really. Have a drink an' a yarn." He shrugged and sat back in his chair. So she'd come in search of a redheaded girl, had she? There were at least three redheaded working girls who frequented the Ten Bells, but the way fate had been working lately dictated that it was most likely Lizzie. And if he knew Lizzie (which he phant'sied he did) she'd be around sooner rather than later.
Or at least he hoped she would. He didn't want to be entertaining this girl all night when he had business to attend to.

[Renate MacGregor]

A drink. A drink sounded perfect. And Renate didn't like to say so but she was fond of a few drinks...just to calm her nerves and warm her belly. And she'd have to wait for the woman...but that would be all right. This nice chap would look after her.

"A drink would be lovely, you know. Thank you." a pause. "But I'll have to leave the 'yarn' to you. I'm afraid I am not much of a storyteller..."

[Liz]

Liz had been in the Ten Bells for quite some time now, mostly people-watching, and drinking. Always drinking. The gin took the sting away, and anyway you never knew when some hayseed would walk in fresh from the country and ready to be fleeced. She'd had one or two of those today; come straight back to the pub though, and bought another gin. It was comfortable here.

She'd watched idly as the blonde girl, vaguely familiar, got herself in trouble and Redjack got her out. Never could stop being a knight-in-shining-armor, that one. Only his was a bit rusty, wasn't it, the same color as her hair. His hair, too. She snickered a bit at her own rusty wit and had another bit of gin.

Where had she seen that girl before, anyway?

[Redjack Ryan]

The exhausted serving-girl probably wouldn't have stopped by their table at all, if Redjack hadn't put out his hand and tapped her lightly on the arm. She spun, incensed, but her frown faded quick enough.

"H'lo Emma, mind bringin' me an' m'friend here a gin and a...beg pardon, what'll ye have, dearie?" He flashed Renate a lopsided grin, before turning back to the serving girl with a different sort of smile. Less...dashing, perhaps? If one could really call Redjack dashing. Perhaps he was, in a clumsy and slightly unhinged sort of way.

[Renate MacGregor]

There was something about that smile that unnerved the irl. For a moment she wished she'd listened to that older fellow... But she shook off that feeling with a tiny shiver and smiled timidly at the waitress.

"Gin is fine, miss." And after all that had happened a drink would be more than welcome...even if it was nothing like the good Irish whiskey she'd used to snitch from her Papa's cabinet. Renate was no enemy to drinking..but there was something about the smile Regdjack had given her that made her wish he was a little less, well, pickled. There was something desperate about his drunkenness.

What silly thoughts! It was her pressing her own fear and discomfort onto him and nothing else.

"Thank you so much, Sir, you're so kind. I would thank you better if I..." but he never heard how Renate would have liked to thin him (and thank goodness) for that moment her eyes flickered past him to the red head of hair in the corner and she choked.

"No...not her. She'll know me. Oh, Lord."

[Redjack Ryan]

"Hm?" He twisted round in his seat, thus ruining any hope the girl might have had at seeming subtle. The Irishman's eyes flew over the knots of pubgoers, before finally alighting upon Lizzie. His face lit up ridiculously, and he gesticulated in her direction with enthusiasm.

Not for a single second did he consider that Renate's displeasure could be caused by this same woman. Perhaps if he'd had fewer drinks that night he might have.

"Lizzie!" he called, and waved merrily, confirming exactly how pissed he really was. Ever since the night that--well, that his world had changed--there had been something of a distance between he and the redheaded working-girl he'd always counted amongst his friends. Now, it was as though he'd forgotten to be aloof. He also seemed to have forgotten the laws of gravity, as he leaned his chair onto its back legs...and toppled to the floor.