Sorry all, I am struggling with technology.

Chapter 6

The Black Letter

"Depends sir…". Mia shouted, shoved Anne forward, hissed in her ear, "We do – it's a boy thing."

Ann grabbed Mia, and for some unknown reason, slung her forward, playfully. Mia turned and shouted at her like a younger brother, then straightened, faced the general, hands deep in her pockets, shoulders raised. Anne felt a dirty darkness radiating from the man, something like old dark blood that would not come out, dirty deaths, the screams of so many innocents. She kept her distance, like a wild horse from fire.

"Yah, sor. Maybe, sor depends, sor." Mia grunted like the stable boy out in the carriage house.

"Just deliver a note, No murder." The big man smiled, the joke not going to his cold, dead eyes. "Not this time at least."

Mia laughed at the joke, hit "Billy" in the shoulder. Anne laughed like it neither hurt.

Scribbling quickly Tilney wrote a note, handed it to Mia, gave Anne an address, not far from the Pump Rooms, a very good address. Almost as an afterthought he handed Mia a thin worn penny he had to search for from among what looked like coins of silver and gold. Mia, having watched the coster monger's boy, bit onto it, made a face, said, "It'll do, sir."

A push from Mia and they ran off in the direction of the Pump Rooms. Running as fast as their feet could carry them Anne felt like she was racing away from something dark, dirty and evil.

They careened around the corner onto a quiet side street and suddenly a hand shot out and grabbed Anne, slammed her into the wall. With a thud she bounced off the wall, into another solid body who grabbed her. She tried to squirm out. A big man shoved Mia against the wall.

"What the hell are you boys playing at? What did Elliott give you?"

"What...?" Anne started.

Frederick, shook Mia, and shoved her into Charles strong grip. Frederick froze, then roared, "Mr. Moreau! What god damn game are you..."

He shook Mia, then blanched when he looked at Anne, trapped in Charles arms. "Anne! What the hell..."

His hand, about to give a blow, froze mid-air. "God damn..."

Charles started to laugh. "Anne? Oh my god! Sister, is that you?" Letting go, he bent over, roaring with laughter. "Frederick - Look! The shock of your proposal has gone and broken the most upright and upstanding of women!"

Frederick pulled them both into a narrow alley between two houses, Charles following, his bulk hiding them from the street. "Anne, what the bloody..."

Mia looked up at him, said, "Sorry Captain. Sir, Miss Anne wanted to see if she could pass as a boy. We've been practicing. This was her big test - fool you."

Mia smiled that endearing smile she could do, not withering under Frederick's raging glare, rather, somehow melting its coldness.

"Looks like she passed." Charles choked, laughter filling the air.

Frederick did not pull Anne close, rather held her shoulder hard and straight away from him, neither pushing nor pulling away, just holding her, looking at her, his anger changing to befuddlement.

"First a..." Frederick glanced at Charles, fell silent.

"And now a boy. Anne... what are you up to?" He whispered, his voice full of surprise.

"God, I can't wait to just tell Mary this.' Charles started to laugh again. "You are lucky dear sister, I almost smashed you full into that wall for the fun of it. Imagine what we'd have to tell Elizabeth if you showed up with two black eyes and a split lip?"

"Hush." Frederick said shortly to Charles. "Anne... what did that lobster general give you?"

"It's a note.."

"Something about that man..." Frederick looked serious. "Something has has sent my skin crawling. Let's see that note."

With shaking hands, she unfolded it. Read the strong elegant script, and deeply confused, handed it to Frederick.

He read it quickly. "Damn." He said folding it, slipping it in his pocket. He looked at Anne, then Mia.

"Charles, I need a drink. A strong drink. What say you we take these fine young lads out? I think we knows a upstanding establishment around the corner… of excellent reputation suitable for women and children."

Charles looked at Anne, and with a merry look winked at Frederick. "Great gods man, best idea of the year! Come on lad." He said, grabbed Mia's arm, spun out into the street.

Holding her still for a moment, Frederick looked in Anne's eyes. He said, nothing, reached out, and brushed the hair from her eyes. He pulled her hair back, and said, "I'd not have known... except for your eyes. Your ribbon though... lad... has slipped."

He pulled her ribbon free, then tied her hair back again, fingers stilling, resting in her hair.

"You cut it for this... masquerade?"

She nodded.

He smiled at her, pulled her knit cap lower. "Play a boy, don't fall out of role. We'll be treating you like one. Just keep your eyes open and your mouth shut, watch, learn, at this next place."

Suddenly his hand stilled, fingers in her hair, a look in his face she could not understand, almost hungry. His thumb followed the line of her ear, slipped along the edge of her jaw. Electricity coursed to her feet. She wanted to press her head into his hand. He turned brusquely away.

She followed, silent, heart pounding, the touch of his fingers still echoing over her skin.

It wasn't hard to keep quiet in the place they went next. Pressed tightly together on a long bench filled with bodies, there was hardly any room to move. Anne was shoved tight against Frederick by a large man next to her who smelled of sausages and wet wool, and spoke of cattle. Charles and Mia sat on a bench across from them, the tow headed girl looking around with bright interest. A wooden rasher of ham and cheese with coarse bread on it was slammed down by a busy, hassled girl with a big horsey, open smile.

She leaned over Charles with a laugh, "Your regular, Squire Charlie?"

He burst out laughing and said "With a kiss on top too!" A wink at Anne when he said that.

"Three short beer for them," he nodded at Mia and Anne, "An ale and a whiskey for me, but for the captain- ale and a bad cheap rum."

"Damn, Charles, you know I hate rum."

Charles smiled wickedly.

"Damn, it's packed." Frederick grumbled. "Thought this was a quiet place."

"Sophia-Inez will be singing... great timing!" Charle's said, beaming.

"No wonder you were so insistent on getting out of the gun shop... I thought your love affair with guns had ended."

Anne pressed tighter against the wool of Frederick's everyday coat, trying to pull away from the big, loud man next to her, and looked nervously around. The noise of voices, raucous laughter, the smell of tight packed bodies and spilled beer was overwhelming. It was a dimmish space, long, narrow and full. Most of the light came through small white washed windows high in the shed's walls. Long tables ran the length of the building. People were packed on benches shoulder to shoulder with plates and beers in front of them. There were almost as many women as men, even groups of women alone. To her startlement there were children and old folk all dressed as if they had just come from Sunday church service, which they probably had, when she realized it was a Sunday.

The women though most definitely did not look like the slatterns working the streets that she sometimes caught sight of as their carriage rumbled through less reputable districts. Rather, they all seemed neatly dressed, some even stylishly dressed. None seemed rich. Suddenly Anne realized it was the lower orders, servants, waitresses, seamstresses, the millinery shop girls, shop owners, turned out in their Sunday best.

One red-headed woman caught her attention; she looked down with a tender smile at a young boy and girl sitting next to her, no more than five years old, said something to them that made them laugh and brighten more, kicking their feet in excitement. Anne realized she knew the woman, the head waitress at Molland's. A young man came and squeezed next to the children on the bench, kissed each on the top of their heads, obviously their father. He handed a mug of beer to his wife, small glasses to the children. In the corner two well dressed older women sat, discreetly holding hands, heads close together. Startled, Anne realized she knew them both too, one was Lady Granvilles' governess and the other was the Mrs. Bingley's lady's maid, the elegant and always laughing Mrs. Jessup. At another table two brightly dressed pretty blonds laughed among a group of other stylishly dressed young women. One smiled pointedly and wickedly at Frederick, who tipped his beer to her in salute.

He whispered to her "Do the same, send them a wink too."

With a silent gasp she realized the two were Mrs. Whitby's twin girls, who always served Anne at the ribbon and fabric shop. They were dressed with a sense a casual elegance that would have left even Elizabeth jealous. Young men all around eyed the two. One who looked like a young curate worked up his nerves, went over and bowed deeply to the table. The girls all tittered behind their hands.

Was that how the common people courted?

Many of the men seemed respectable workers, clerks and shop owners, the odd farmer dressed in his Sunday best, some country squires like Charles, the odd Navy officer. No dandys and absolutely no gentlemen that she could see were in the place. She caught sight of their costermonger and his son, and even the clerk at the bank she cashed her slim draws on the Elliott account. She glanced away when she realized Long, Jeffers and Jones were standing near the bar, talking to some laughing older women.

No one recognized her, but she pulled her cap lower, slouched more.

Frederick caught her glance, smiled. He leant as far back as he could to get a look as his love, trying so hard to play the boy. The smear of ashes on her cheek helped. The oh so upright and proper Miss Anne Elliott would never wear a smear like that. He found it adorable, even entrancing. Something about her dressed like that disturbed him, excited him, made him want to lean down and kiss her hard, drink in her scent. He smiled. When married he would buy her some boys clothes, teach her how to play a young gentleman; it would be best she be able to handle anything on board ship, any eventuality. It might in the long term even save her life.

But, the longer he spent time with her he the more he realized how rarified a circle his beloved floated in, how unconnected to life, to the lower orders, to the average Brit, his lady love truly was.

"What is this place?" She whispered to Frederick.

Quietly he whispered, "This? Just a... not quite a pub- pub. Almost like an assembly room. It's Sunday afternoon, it servants time off. Just a place known for good music in the afternoon."

"But there are children here." Anne gulped, "And not… quite ladies, but I wouldn't call them..."

"Not …" he stopped, looked for a word, not the ones he could never use around her. She needed to learn about cities, she would be in strange ones soon.

"There were a few of those ladies -and gentlemen - here, but… Anne, it's their afternoon off too. Time with their children, their friends and families." He sipped his beer, nodded at a table of several tired looking women and men, laughing, feeding a small child a slice of ham. "This isn't a place where the "working women" work from - Mrs. Jessup would toss them out on their ears. Think of this place more as the community drawing room. All the women here are as upstanding as any country miss."

He almost said, with a dark scowl, maybe more upstanding. Louisa had truly tried to compromise him and back him into a dangerous corner. He was getting the sense, too, that Elizabeth Elliott - at certain country house visits - could give the working girls a run for their money. Especially if what he'd heard about Lady Vernon's gatherings were true. Broyle and McGillvary would gossip, yes, but would never lie.

With a smile, he looked at the table of shop-girls, nodded at them. Anne glanced over.

"The women here - they're the ones who work, build and run… a city, a country. Here's the cooks, the great house-matrons, the millinests and modistes, the housemaids of Bath, the shop owners, their shop girls, the woman in the post office, enjoying their afternoon off. "

With a smile he thought of the fishwives hauling nets on their with their husbands and fathers, the farmer wives, the women who ran the sail shop he dealt with in Portsmouth. The grand-daughter who in reality was the rigger supplier, stepping in for her father, a hopeless lazy drunk. A Miss Anne Elliott would never encounter those women, but a certain Mrs. Captain Wentworth most definitely would, and would probably be his representative along with his bosun and his master rigger. They'd "teach her the ropes". She'd be a quick learner.

Charles leaned across the table with a big smile on his face, shouted over the noise, Anne could barely hear him. "They serve a great ale and Devon ham and cheeses here! The music -it can't be beat. Four p.m. - the family show on Sundays." His his eyes sparkling he laughed. "Can't wait to bring little Charlie and Walter here."

Anne narrowed her eyes, and he winked. He definitely would not bring Mary here.

The large man next to her pushed Anne even closer to Frederick as yet another of the man's friends squeezed on to their bench. Frederick smiled, didn't inch away, seemed happy to have a reason to have Anne so close. He hooked an unseen leg around hers under the table, and she blushed deeply, staring into her beer, head down. His scent, the firm hardness of his muscles distracted her from the noise around her.

Suddenly a bustle, excitement, and musicians came out. Charles sat up straight, more excited. "Damn, the Spaniard. This'll be a good show - no wonder it's so packed."

Frederick smiled down at her. "It can get boring sitting around drinking tea all day and discussing weather with the gentry."

"Tell me about it." She said bitterly, then clamped her hand over her mouth. Frederick threw his head back and laughed.

"Anne, you amaze me. Always."

His face suddenly changed, he whispered. "That note... did you get any names?"

Leaning close, she said, "Cousin Elliott descended from the carriage talking about guns with his friend Colonel Wallis. I believe they called the older ... gentleman," for he had indeed been a gentleman, his accent, his wealth made that clear, but she loathed to use that term for the the man, "Tilney."

Frederick's face darkened. For a moment he sat silent.

"Damn. General Tilney. Now that one's a piece of work. I've heard unsavoury things of him." Unconsciously his hand searched for hers, but then let go, remembering where they were. "Keep far from that one my dear". His whispered breath raised goose bumps on her neck.

"So, Elliott and Tilney together. How like eggs and butter." A scowl, then he looked at her, "The note…?"

"Old Blood and Pure Blood will be there. My son will bring the Girl - when I say. Untouched." Her blood ran cold as she whispered that. "What does that mean?"

She pressed closer to him as they squeezed yet another lad on their bench. She whispered into his ear but tried to pretend they were whispering about Mrs. Whitby's girls. Laughter around them drowned out Anne and Frederick's voices.

"The girl untouched? Do they… what…?" Fright made her voice crack.

Frederick's face stayed cool, betrayed no emotion, he said nothing. His silence said much. Anne's blood ran cold.

"Frederick, they spoke of Old and Pure blood, but… Tilney called you Old Blood."

Catching the eye of Mrs. Whitby's eldest, Anne winked and tipped her beer at the taller of the girls, who blushed. Turning she whispered, "Colonel Wallsi called me... a Pure Blooded Filly."She blushed herself.

He smiled, and his hand rose, stilled; he'd almost touched her face again but masked it with a flick of hair out of his eyes. He tossed a brilliant smile at one of the Whitby's, as if they'd been in deep discussion of the two girls exceptional beauty.

"That you are my love." He whispered as quietly as possible. "But the… girl… this maybe unsavoury."

"Tilney said it as if it... mattered. As if she were … needed." She shivered. Thank god there had been a strong wind, and she had always stayed down wind of the wolf-like older man. Suddenly, her belly went cold.

If she'd been up-wind, could he have scented her blood? But no, her imagination was getting the best of her. But there were the rumours of the Kings army out on the Penninsula, off in distant India too, dark rumours of magics and werewolves, of too many slaughtered in battles, as berserker rage took over, tales of women, even nuns and children slaughtered as they ran. Cousin Fiz' stayed silent of his time in the army.

"He was firm, as if blood," her hand found his under the table, she squeezed it, "Your blood mattered- for something important."

She blanched, remembering whispered hints of magics her mother had not taught her.

"We need more information. We need to get the note to the recipient. We should leave." Frederick voice was cold, firm.

He leant across to Charles. "Get Mr. Moreau home, will you Charles?" and was about to get up, when a shout rose from the crowd.

Anne turned and a curtain slipped aside. A short dark-skinned woman came out to cheers and applause. A strum of a guitar, a cheer, then suddenly, a ripple of sound, the guitar spilled a wild, complex music that caught Anne by the heart. The short woman stood straight, opened her mouth, and Anne forgot everything, just pulled Frederick down beside her.