Author's Note: I am really sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I'm working on a doctorate in a STEM field, and school has started... and I've also been doing research for a journal publication over the summer. Nevertheless, I'll try not to make you wait almost a whole month again, in part because the chapters really are going to be shorter beginning with this one. Next chapter will probably be the return of the pub thugs. How? Ah, just wait.

The third item in the chapter title refers, by the way, to family trees.

Thanks for the reviews and new follows/favorites!


Chapter Nine: Socks, Bottles, and Trees


"You want me to wear that?" Eugene said, holding up a long, filmy white garment in one hand and a box—containing a second such item—in the other.

Rapunzel pursed her lips and frowned. "Yes, I do—and furthermore, I made it for you," she added pointedly. "Are you going to turn your perfect nose up at something I worked so hard on?" Her eyes grew wide.

He stared back at her in amazement. She was good at manipulating his feelings now. Always had been, in a way, but she had become quite the expert at pulling his strings since they had married. Learned it from me, no doubt, he thought grudgingly. Never would he have guessed that someone could turn his own talents against him like this woman. Of course, he liked that she could hold her own with him, really liked it. Still...

He set down the box and held up the stocking. "It's fine needlework, Rapunzel," he admitted. "You sewed it really well. It's just—the fabric—I mean, it's kind of feminine, don't you think? This silky filmy stuff. It's something better suited for stockings that you would wear." He set the garment down in the box. "'Flynn Rider' doesn't need to wear socks. Never have before. But if I were going to do so, they'd be... manly, you know?"

She glared at him, hands on her hips. "That is the kind of fabric that stockings are made from, 'Flynn,' and I know this, because I was at the tailor shop below your store and asked the seamstress there for advice about it. This is what they are made from—and that includes men's stockings." She lifted them out of the box and shoved them forcefully into his hands. "You are wearing them. Your feet and boots stink because your feet are right next to that leather, and it's just dreadful. I cleaned your boots last night and you are not going to get them smelling again. I can't believe you think you can have lunch with this McKearney without being properly dressed and foot odors wafting from your shoes. Now put them on." She stared hard at him.

There was nothing for it, he realized. He would have to wear them. He picked up the stockings and gazed at them again. At least they'll be under my boots. No one would have to know that under his boots, he was wearing the same kind of effete hosiery that every feather-hat dandy in breeches and low-cut shoes displayed proudly—well, no one except Rapunzel. And she wants me to do this for a rational purpose, he reasoned. For hygiene. And she did clean my boots and sew these for me. Sighing, he pulled on one stocking, then another, unwilling to look up and see the satisfied smirk that he knew was on her face.


It was a good thing that Rapunzel had insisted on the stockings, he thought later as he munched on his food. Thomas McKearney was very gentlemanlike, with open, friendly, polite manners and good taste in clothing. He was not going about looking like an overdressed fop, Eugene thought in satisfaction, and his choice of eatery—a nice pub, rather less rowdy than the Third Sheet—spoke well of him too. He didn't seem to be especially well-to-do, but he was a retired navy man and had accrued enough wealth during his time as an officer that he could now live comfortably in the Irish countryside—and operate a private distillery on his estate's grounds.

A couple of weeks after they were first sent, McKearney had replied to the inquiries made by Eugene and Vale, indicating that he was interested in the business prospect and would like to meet Eugene personally. A speedy response was sent to his address, and now, not quite a month and a half after settling in London, Eugene's shop looked likely to acquire another source of revenue.

Business had been going as well as could be expected. He had bought a large quantity of cheap used merchandise—including furniture and knickknacks—with the proceeds from Gothel's jewelry, and he now did a steady trade in used goods. He was also willing to operate as a pawnbroker. He had acquired a customer base from the sailors and local residents looking for a bargain; even the locals knew that this kind of shop would always have an influx of "new" items that they had not seen before, so they came by regularly. Meanwhile, Rapunzel had gone out to the shop to tidy it up and—with the permission of the Wests, the building's owners—paint the walls with whimsical curves and floral designs. She also contributed candles and pottery of various sizes, colors, and shapes... and on occasion, she went to the store to take drawing or painting commissions.

Between the two of them, they were able to draw income sufficient to their needs and put a little aside too. They didn't need the whiskey sideline... but, as Eugene pointed out, at some point there would be more mouths to feed, and in any case, it never hurt to have extra money.

And it looked as if they would get it. McKearney was very well pleased with the young couple who were so obviously attached to each other.

"Reminds me of my own youth," he remarked sentimentally, "though I didn't marry until I became a captain, four years into the service. It was a fool mistake to wait for more money. I should have tied the knot as soon as my wife—well, at that time, wife-to-be—and I knew we wanted to, as the pair of you have done."

"Well, so many young men wait because they don't want to marry the woman they love and then find themselves unable to support her... and watch her suffer and be miserable," Eugene said. "And it worked out in the end, after all."

McKearney nodded. "I suppose you're right, but since I did get all the promotions I was after, it's easy to look back and forget what it was once like. And I know, too, that if her folks had tried to prevent it, then we would've run off to Gretna Green or some place, and the devil with fiscal wisdom and whatnot. Funny, isn't it, how we take things for granted most times. 'Tis easy to be at leisure when one is not desperate."

Eugene glanced at Rapunzel, seeking nonverbal permission to divulge more of their history. She understood and gave him an encouraging smile.

He cleared his throat. "There was a certain amount of—desperation, I suppose you could say—in our... marriage. Not for that reason, but because money was becoming a problem before we moved here, and it was an intractable one. I"—he hesitated before making this confession—"I was not entirely on the right side of the law, and we both knew that we had to get away. So we had to be married in order for her to be let into this country. It was sooner than it would have been if we had been more—at leisure, as you say."

McKearney knitted his brows together. "If I may ask—"

"Petty theft," Eugene said bluntly (if a bit dishonestly—but he suspected that telling McKearney about the crown would end the discussion). "I was stealing to eat. I didn't like it, but..." He trailed off. "I vowed to set things right when I met her, even if it meant returning to my homeland, which I had been determined to leave as a boy. And so you see us now. I understand if this makes you reconsider, though."

McKearney regarded the pair contemplatively before speaking. "To the contrary, I appreciate that you told me this up front. That blackguard Morse—he presented himself all well-dressed and punctilious, but then what he got up to—well, I would not speak of some of his deeds in front of your missus. Besides," McKearney said wryly in a low voice, "we're flouting the king's revenue men, aren't we? No duties and no license fee. It would be wrong of me to be a hypocrite about my employees, but I think in a venture such as this, it is important that we be honest with each other."

"I agree," he said at once.

"Which reminds me," the older man said conversationally, "what makes an English-born fellow like you all right with this sort of thing?"

Eugene chuckled. The true answer was "because we could use the money," but he decided that this would not endear him to the man. He considered the underlying implication of McKearney's question, that an English-born man presumably would not want to aid and abet an Irishman in his under-the-table business dealings.

"Well, my father was English, but my mother was actually Irish herself," he remarked. "They had... difficulties... from prejudice... and so you might say I have divided loyalty."

"You don't say!" McKearney exclaimed. "Your mother? Why yes, I do think I see a little Irish in your face, now that you mention it..."

Eugene caught Rapunzel's eye and smirked. Even Rapunzel, optimistic and innocent-spirited Rapunzel, was looking amused at this remark. He probably does "see" it only after I mention that, Eugene thought to himself. No matter, though; what he had said was true. "She was a Callaghan," he added.

"A fine name," McKearney affirmed. "Well, sonny, I reckon that settles it. I'm delighted to do business with you."

Eugene turned to Rapunzel with a satisfied smile. She met his gaze with a look of surprise in her face. She had known very little about his family, except that they were from this general part of the world. Granted, he knew little about her birth family, but he knew as much as she did, in any case.

Thinking about her birth family gave her a pang. She wished she could know something about them. It still bothered her, even though she had a new life and a new name, and even though she knew that information about them certainly would not be found here. It was a nagging boggart in the back of her mind—something she didn't think much about, but that never went away entirely.

She resolved to ask him about his own family. Her late in-laws were the only family she could know anything about, and he ought to share it with her.

Soon they finished their meal and took their leave of McKearney. As they headed back to the shop to finish out the day's work, neither of them noticed the lanky, hostile-faced character lurking at the bar of the pub who had been observing the entire conversation between his former employer and the man who had now taken his place.


Later that evening, when they were safely locked into their flat, bellies full and bodies washed, Rapunzel asked the question that had been weighing on her mind all afternoon.

Eugene leaned against the headboard and rubbed his forehead. He had expected something like this from this inquisitive, considerate woman, especially since he had brought up the subject at lunch, but this was not a pleasant topic to discuss at length. What he had said to McKearney was the most superficial kind of reference. Still, he never had really told Rapunzel about his family. He decided that he owed it to her to tell her. She didn't keep secrets from him, and besides, it was nothing to be ashamed of. It was just a source of anger and sadness.

"My father was a second son," he began. "There were only the two of them, my father and... my uncle. My grandmother died during childbirth, and I suppose my grandfather always resented my father for it. I was named for my father," he added. "His full name was Charles Eugene, but the 'Charles' was my grandfather's name, and... well, you'll see why he didn't want me to have that name too.

"My mother was an orphan, like I am—like we both are," he added meaningfully, looking at her. "She was Irish, and for a time she was employed by a family that vacationed in Southend. That's how she and my father met. Her name..." He glanced wryly at Rapunzel. "Her name was Flanna Callaghan."

Rapunzel, quick and clever as she was, instantly understood. "Oh! So that was another attraction of the name 'Flynn' to you. It was so similar to your mother's name."

"They're masculine and feminine forms of the same name," he said. "Yes. Anyway, she and my father soon decided to get married. She left her job and they eloped. When my father told my grandfather what he had done..." He trailed off, a flash of anger and pain passing over his face. "Rapunzel, I'm not sure how to explain this, but there are some people in the world who are just irrational, prejudiced old bigots, and my grandfather was one of them. He couldn't stand the thought of any son of his marrying an Irishwoman, and he ordered my father to divorce her. Needless to say, my father refused, and as a result, he was cut out of the wretched old man's will." He clenched his fists. "I'm glad I don't have his name. I wish I didn't have his surname. That, of course, is another reason why, for so many years..." He sighed.

Rapunzel touched his arm gently. "It was also your father's surname," she said in a quiet voice. "He must have been a good person. You value his old spectacles... and wear his ring."

He smiled weakly. "That's true. He was a good person. They were both kind, good people..." He blinked several times and cleared his throat.

Rapunzel sensed his embarrassment. "What about your grandfather's money?" she asked. "It was all left to your uncle? Has your grandfather died? And if he has, why wouldn't your uncle—" She broke off, conscious of having perhaps inadvertently brought up yet another uncomfortable thread of discussion, but it seemed that there were no threads in this history that were not unpleasant.

He nodded. "He's dead. They're both dead. My uncle never had a problem with my father, and if he were still alive, then perhaps it would have been different, but he died a year before my parents did. There never was a lot of money in the first place, but it's long gone. My fool of an uncle drank it up within a year and a half of getting it. He'd been a drunkard even before my father left the family home, and my grandfather apparently turned a blind eye to it. And I confess there is a certain part of me that sees this work for McKearney as a form of revenge for that too. Making money through drink."

She gazed at him sympathetically. It still hurt him; that much was obvious, or he wouldn't see the job in such a negative way. "I think you should see it as income," she told him gently. "Income from selling something that is very nice for what it is. If you see it as revenge, that means you see it as earning money by helping to bring other people to the same kind of end as your uncle. I don't think that's a good idea. Whatever they do with it is not your fault, but if you look at it that way... basically, I think it would come to bother you. That's not what you are inside. You're a good person."

He leaned against the bed and sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he did. Finally he spoke. "I don't suppose you've really put your past behind you."

"No..."

"Well, neither have I. Obviously." He sounded defensive.

She scuttled up next to him. "We should, though. Both of us. Our relatives are... gone, in one way or another... and we're all each other has, in terms of family. This is our new family. That's what we should think about now."

He sighed, but he couldn't argue the point, nor did he want to. He managed a small smile, which she correctly interpreted as the concession that it was. She snuggled against him, threw her arms around his neck, and gave him a tender kiss, which he gladly deepened.

This part of their relationship was now easy and familiar to both of them, and their individual creativity had given them both plenty of ideas—which they rarely had any hesitation about trying. With no preconceived ideas of shame associated with intimacy—just the initial fear, which was long banished—she was able to indulge the natural curiosity that she had about everything, and he was more than happy to help. Over the course of the past month and a half, he had introduced her to some things that, initially, very much surprised her. It was a bit of a shock to be caught up by him and pushed against a wall... and he had been the one to be surprised when she pulled him down on their sofa. It certainly surprised her that his fingers and tongue could create the types of sensations that they did... but there it was, and she very much enjoyed it the first time they tried that—and returned the favor at his rather thinly disguised request for her to do so.

Having read about the topic in medical texts, she was able to determine the days when conception was most likely, and those were the nights when he did that. They wanted to have children someday, but not just yet, if possible. They both thought it advisable to have some money saved up, and anyway, they liked being a couple for now.

They always enjoyed this closeness, whichever form it took, and this night was no exception. When they at last finished, they were thoroughly exhausted and ready to curl up for sleep.