14 July 1959
It was early afternoon, and Jean was in the pub kitchen, where she'd been for most of the day. Some of the lads in town came round in the morning on their way to work, for coffee and scones or a nip of something stronger if their heads were still pounding from the night before, and more of them came round for lunch, looking for a pint and a pie if one was to be had, and soon they'd come looking for supper, stew and bread and as many pints as John the barkeep could pour them before closing time at 6:00. Life in the pub was hectic; there were semi-permanent lodgers who rented rooms upstairs for months on end, and occasional guests who stopped over for a night or two, and every single man and young couple in town seemed to find their way to the pub in the evenings. It was a busy life, but Jean was grateful for the fast pace, grateful for the tasks that kept her hands occupied most every minute of the day, for the endless stream of voices, the laughter of the patrons and the employees of the pub, the noise of the wireless. She was grateful for it, for when the pub closed its doors in the evening she made her way alone to her little cottage and found only silence there, a still, echoing silence in which she could not hide from the sorrow in her own heart.
She was just setting a tray of bread in the oven when the sound of footsteps rang out behind her, and as she straightened up she turned and found John watching at her, a mischievous smile on his face. John owned the pub, like his father before him, but his sons were not interested in the family business, and after his wife died he had been in desperate need of some help in the kitchen. Jean had answered that call, being in desperate need of job, and they had got on well together, had over the course of a month grown somewhat accustomed to one another. John was a jovial, joking sort, which served him well in his line of business, and though he was of an age with Jean and not bad to look at his recent bereavement left him utterly uninterested in romance, which suited Jean just fine. Perhaps in time that might change, but she rather thought not; they had both suffered too much at the hands of love to go looking for it again, and were quite content to be simply friends.
"Some bloke's come looking for you, Mrs. Beazley," John said, leaning in the doorway and grinning at her slyly. Jean's heart sank in her chest; she had not made friends with any of the men in town - nor did she intend to - and her boys were far from her side, and Danny was the only person from her old life who knew where she'd gone, and it seemed unlikely that he would have been able to leave his post in the middle of a working day just to come and see his aunt. If a man had come looking for her...oh, please, she thought, please, don't let him find me. Jean wasn't sure she could bear it, to have to pull away from her king a second time. She had thought, before now, that this town was far enough away, but Lucien was the king, and she supposed there was no corner of the kingdom where his hands could not reach.
"I've got work to do," she said a bit primly, turning away, but John wouldn't hear it.
"Come now, Jean, you've been on your feet all day. There's no customers right now. Go and have a rest. He looks like a nice bloke."
Though there was a twinkle in his eye that spoke of mischief Jean could tell that John meant well, that no doubt he thought this fellow who'd come to call was more than just a friend or distant relation; perhaps he had noticed just how lonesome his new cook was, and wanted to do whatever he could to bring a smile to her face. Whatever the reason Jean could tell he would not let the subject drop, and if she were to have any peace she would have to do as he said.
"All right, then," she agreed reluctantly, "I suppose I could do with a break."
"There's a good girl," John said, smiling. No one had called Jean girl for quite a long time; life in the castle did not allow for such familiarties. She knew he meant nothing untoward, however, knew he was only fond of her, and she tried not to take offense. Town life was different; people had more mundane things to worry about than the future of the country or the safety of the king. They went to dances at the parish hall and drank in the pub on Fridays and grumbled about their wages, and they loved their neighbors, and looked out for one another. It was not such a bad way to live, she thought, and as the days slipped by she was growing used to the gentleness of such a life.
She wiped her hands clean on her apron before she pulled it off and set it to the side, and then she marched from the kitchen with John hot on her heels, dread and curiosity nipping at her. Who could it be, she wondered, and what did they want with her? Maybe it was Jack, she tried to tell herself, maybe her wayward boy had come looking for her, and she could hold him close and see for herself that he was well; she would have liked that, very much.
As she stepped into the dining room it was not Jack she found, nor was it her king, come to beg her to return. To her very great surprise it was Matthew Lawson waiting for her, dressed in a plain black suit and leaning heavily on his cane, though he straightened slightly when he caught sight of her.
"Matthew!" she said, confused but not entirely unhappy to see him. "What a lovely surprise."
As she came to stand beside him Jean went up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss against his cheek. No doubt that would give John reason to tease her for weeks on end, the gaunt faced man in his smartly pressed suit who had come searching for her, whose cheek she kissed; no doubt she would not hear the end of John's well-intentioned questions, but in the moment she was too delighted to see a friendly face to worry about the consequences.
"Jean," Matthew said, giving her a tight little smile. "You're looking well."
"Go and have a seat, you two," John called out from behind the bar. "I'll bring you something to drink. Sherry for the lady and a pint for the fella, eh?"
"Just tea," Jean scolded him, though she was already leading Matthew towards one of the booths in the corner of the empty pub. "It is the middle of the day."
"Tea for the lady and a pint for me, thank you," Matthew called. That made John smile; oh dear, Jean thought in dismay, I hope he doesn't go getting any ideas.
"Now then, Matthew, what's this about?" Jean asked him as they settled into the booth. Matthew grimaced as he bent his bad leg but then he found the room to straighten it out, and the pained expression faded from his face. There had been a riot in the capital some months before Lucien's arrival, a row between anti-monarchists and their more traditional counterparts, and Matthew had been badly wounded. He'd already been named head of the castle guard by then, and though his injury meant he could no longer work as he had done the old king had seen fit to keep him on, as thanks for his many years of tireless service and his bravery on that particular day. Though Jean was glad of it, though she knew that Matthew was happy in his work and likely could not imagine any other life for himself, she did sometimes wonder if perhaps it might be best for him to take early retirement, and nurse his leg in peace, far from the dangers that came with proximity to the crown. Though they were friends she hardly felt it was her place to say such a thing, however, and so she kept her thoughts to herself.
"Can't a man stop in to say hello to an old friend?" Matthew asked with a lopsided little smile.
John chose that moment to arrive with a tray laden down with teapot and cup and saucer and a pint, and he took his time laying the things out on the table, grinning at Jean all the while.
"You just give a shout if you need me," he said when he was finished, though he loitered by the table, watching the pair of them expectantly.
Jean thanked him, but did not speak again until he was out of sight; whatever course their conversation was about to take, she did not want John to hear a word of it.
"Matthew," she started to say, but he cut her off at once.
"I just wanted to see how you were getting on. Didn't think you'd be in a place like this. I would have thought you'd get work as a housekeeper somewhere, given your history."
While he spoke Jean poured herself a cup of tea, and she took a sip before answering him carefully.
"I like the work," she told him honestly, "And John doesn't ask questions. If I applied to be a housekeeper the family would want to check my references."
"And if they did that, they'd find out where you came from," he said slowly. He had almost caught her meaning, but not quite, and so Jean was forced to continue.
"Yes, and if they spoke to someone in the castle-"
"Then there's a chance that the king might find out where you are."
"Yes," Jean answered softly, refusing to look at him. Yes, if some potential employer spoke to the housekeeping staff about her word would spread like wildfire, and nothing remained secret in the castle for long.
"Your secret is safe, for now," Matthew told her. "I made Danny tell me where to find you but he's a good lad. He hasn't told anyone else. And neither will I, if you don't want me to."
"Thank you, Matthew. I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself." I couldn't bear it, she thought, to see his face, to hear his voice. Even a letter would break me clean in two. "How is...how is he?" There was no point in pretending she was not worried about her king; she fell asleep most every night with thoughts of him swirling through her mind, terrible questions looming through the darkness to keep her from her dreams. Was he angry with her, was he hurt, was he making trouble for himself, had he already set his sights on someone else? No matter how much it might wound her Jean desperately wanted to know what had become of her Lucien, and she imagined that Matthew hadn't come all this way just to talk about her new position.
"Not well, if I'm honest. Drinks himself into a stupor most every night, terrorizes the staff. So far he's keeping on top of his work, but we're trying to keep him away from public appearances, at least until he settles down a bit. You really did a number on him, Jean."
"That's not fair, Matthew, and you know it," she said, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. It grieved her more than she could say, that he should think her so cruel, so unfeeling. Surely, she thought, he ought to know her better than that. "I didn't want to leave."
"Then why did you? He was determined to sort something out. What changed?"
"I saw reason," she told him sadly. "Matthew, he can't marry me. If it were to become public knowledge that he'd been carrying on with his housekeeper, if they'd found out about Jack...he would have been ruined."
"I'm sorry, Jean, I'd forgotten about Jack."
There's more you don't know, she thought miserably, but she did not tell him. Matthew had been there through it all, Jack's youthful indiscretions with the maids, his drinking, the incident with the gun; likely Matthew knew even more about the trouble Jack had gotten into than Jean did herself, and it seemed he found that reason enough for her to leave. It would not be necessary, she thought, to tell him of her own indiscretions, and she reminded herself to be grateful for small mercies.
"He needs a young, noble wife who can give him children and make him proud. I can't do any of those things for him. It's best for both of us that I stay away."
The best way to resist temptation is to remove it, that's what the castle priest had told her, and Jean had done just that, much to her own sorrow.
"I don't think he sees it that way," Matthew said, not unkindly.
"No," Jean agreed, "I know he doesn't. That's why I had to go. And things aren't so bad here. My sister is here, and the work keeps me busy, and I have a beautiful little garden."
Matthew watched her for a moment over the rim of his glass, as if considering her words, trying to find fault with them, though she knew he wouldn't.
"That's good, then, I suppose," he said, and took a long sip of his beer.
"You are looking out for him, aren't you, Matthew?" If Jean could not look after her king herself, she supposed Matthew was the next best thing; they had been friends in their youth, the pair of them, and Lucien always seemed to listen to Matthew, even when he wouldn't hear anyone else.
"I do what I can. You know what he's like. He always has to have his way. But it hasn't been so very long. Perhaps he'll settle down, eventually."
"I hope so. I just want him to be happy."
"Right now you're both miserable, though. It makes my teeth itch."
Jean laughed, a bit wetly, and scrubbed at her cheeks. For the most part she'd kept the tears at bay, and she found that the tea and the soft sound of Matthew's voice helped to settle her nerves.
"You're determined not to come back, then?"
"I've made up my mind, Matthew. It's for the best." Perhaps if I say it often enough, she thought, I might start to believe it.
"All right, then. I'll not try to convince you otherwise."
"But you will come and see me again? It's nice to see a familiar face."
"I wouldn't want to cause you any trouble," Matthew answered, nodding to the kitchen door John had disappeared behind, the door he was no doubt leaning up against now, straining to hear every word of their conversation.
"You won't," Jean said firmly. "Now, tell me everything. How is Alice getting on?"