Hey! Enjoy!
(This one is a bit strange, but it's also longer to make up for it. Sorry, I got distracted and went off on a tangent...!)
As they prepared for bed, John slipped past Nancy in the corridor on the way to the bathroom. She met his eyes and mouthed 'later?' at him, to which he nodded.
...
As soon as John was sure everyone was asleep he slipped off the sofa he'd been lying on and out into the kitchen, where he found Nancy waiting, holding out two steaming mugs. She had a blanket draped over her shoulder, and a torch between her teeth, and was such a sight it took a lot of effort for John not to laugh. Instead he took the proffered mugs, and carried them over to the back door, assuming this was where they were heading. Nancy, now holding the torch in one hand, opened the door, and they both proceeded into the cold night air.
Nancy glanced ruefully at the muddy ground, and then at John.
"I know we said that next time we'd go farther from the house, but…"
"It's alright." John grinned, "We can see who else we can shock!"
Rolling her eyes, Nancy settled down against the wall, and John sat next to her, so that she could spread the blanket over both of them. Then John handed Nancy one of the mugs, containing hot cocoa, and they soon settled into conversation.
After a while John remembered something and turned to Nancy.
"Nan, why have we got the Swallow here? I mean, she still belongs to the Jacksons, doesn't she?"
"They lent her to us when they heard you were coming. Mr Jackson sailed her over one morning, and when we opened the door to ask if there was a reason for his visit he said that they'd heard you were staying and knew you would need Swallow! We couldn't believe our luck, I can tell you… We'd just ruled out sailing, feeling we couldn't really use the scarab when the Ds aren't here, and knowing we wouldn't all fit in Amazon."
John laughed. "Three cheers for the Jacksons! I must admit, I was half worried you'd turned into real pirates and captured Swallow without their knowing."
"Is that what you think of us?!"
"Well… Perhaps not Peggy…"
"Oy!" Nancy hit him, then collapsed into giggles. "Perhaps you have a point. Still, I'm not entirely dishonest. I'd have informed of the fact I'd stolen their ship."
"What, left a note with a skull and crossbones?"
"Exactly!"
The two laughed quietly together, wrapped in each other's arms in the dark.
...
They talked for a while, discussing anything and everything, from Nancy's role on the Hockey team at school, to their favourite songs. They were in the process of arguing over whether Dickens was right in changing the end of his novel (Great Expectations, which they had both studied at school the term before), when a small voice asked 'John?' from behind them. John turned instantly, to see Bridget shivering in the doorway.
"Bridgie! What are you doing out here?!"
"I... I had a bad dream, and I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake mother up, so I thought I'd come and see if anyone was up, and I heard you out here. Can... Can I join you for a while?"
"Of course you can. Come," and he lifted the blanket so she could squeeze under it, and sit between him and Nancy. Bridget climbed in, wriggling to get comfortable, then turned to John.
"Can you tell me a story?"
"What sort of story?" John asked
"A romantic story!"
"What sort of romantic story?"
Bridget giggled, and Nancy had the strange feeling this wasn't the first time this conversation had taken place.
"The usual story."
"Which usual story?"
"You know!"
"But I always tell that one!" John laughed.
"You're the best at it." Bridget observed.
"Oh, alright! How does it start again?"
"Once upon a time..."
"Of course! I remember now. Once upon a time there lived a beautiful rich girl. She lived in a large house, in the countryside, with her parents, who were very rich, and very controlling. Every day she would have to get up, and get dressed into her long elegant dresses, and pretend to be happy. She addressed her mother as Sir, and her father as Ma'am, and..."
"John!" Bridget interrupted.
"What?"
"You did it wrong again."
"Well what should it be?"
"She called her mother Ma'am, and her father Sir."
"Oh! Sorry..." But Nancy noticed he didn't look sorry at all. "She called her mother Ma'am, and her father Sir, and visited the rich, and ignored the servants (at least when her parents were around). She was always thankful for her toys, and was never angry with anyone, or at least, she pretended she wasn't. She played with the other rich kids, and was tutored by a private governess. And she pretended she wasn't tired, even when she was exhausted, which was most of the time."
"Why?" Nancy interrupted, curious.
"I'm getting to that!" He exclaimed, mock glaring at her.
"Keep going," Bridget nudged him.
"I've lost where I was now."
"She was always tired."
"Oh, I remember. She was always tired. Occasionally someone would notice, but she would lie, saying she hadn't slept well the night before. She spent each day in a sense of anticipation, waiting for nightfall. Then she would eat her dinner at six o'clock, tell her parents she was going to read in bed, and go up to sleep. When she had first started leaving them in the early evening, they had wondered if she was ill, young people never go to bed earlier than necessary. But now it was nearly a year later, and nobody seemed to care anymore. She slipped out of her dress, gently informed her servant that she wouldn't be needed again, and could go home to her family, and slipped between her covers, setting the alarm clock under her pillow.
"When she awoke the room was pitch black. She silenced the alarm, and slid out of bed and over to the wardrobe, where the proceeded to bend down, and pull up one of the planks from the bottom. From under here she produced a bundle of clothes, a pair of muddy trousers, an old black shirt, a pair of socks full of holes, and an old pair of shoes. She pulled herself into this oddly assembled outfit, and tied her hair up in a bun, which she promptly hid under a hat and mask. Then she stopped, and looked at herself in the mirror. A strange ruffian looked back at her, and she nodded. That would do.
"Silently, she opened her door. The hallway was black. No noise sounded in the house. She waited for a second, and then slipped down the corridor, past her parents' bedroom, down the stairs..."
"You missed a bit."
"Which bit?"
"The bit where she makes a shape in her bed out of pillows so that her parents won't realise she's gone."
"Sorry... Before she left her room she used the spare pillows from the top of the wardrobe, in order to make a body shape under her covers, so that no one would notice she was gone... Now, where was I?"
"She was slipping down stairs" Nancy supplied.
"Thank you. She made it to the bottom of the stairs, avoiding the creaky floorboard, and let herself out the backdoor, into the darkness of the night. Once outside, she followed the wall of the house round until she could see the stable block silhouetted in the moonlight."
"And Joe was waiting for her!" Exclaimed Bridget, and John laughed.
"You are too eager! Yes, Joe was waiting for her, as he was every night."
"Who was Joe?" Nancy was, at this point, completely baffled.
"Joe was the stable hand. He worked for her family, looking after the horses, and he had been the one to teach her to ride when she was little. He was three years older than her, and had grown up helping his father. But now his father was old, and ill, and Joe ran the stables on his own. He was waiting for her, her horse already saddled, and standing next to his."
"He could afford a horse?"
"The family let him use one of their old ones, one they deemed 'past its prime'. She mounted her horse, he mounted his, and together they rode through the woods that surrounded the house, towards the main road, talking in whispers about anything and everything.
"When they reached the road they stopped, hidden in the shadows, and waited for what felt like a very long time. Then, in the distance, she could pick out the sound of wheels, and the clip clop of a horse's hooves. Signalling to him that they were coming, she readjusted her seat on her horse, while Joe slipped off his and handed her the reigns, and a gun. They walked down to the road, waiting. The cart came thundering round the corner, the wheels spinning. Joe ran out, into the middle of the road, waving a gun, and shouting."
"What was he shouting?" asked Nancy, trying to make head or tale of this story.
"What was he shouting, Bridget?" John asked.
"Halt, or I'll shoot!" Bridget said, sounding proud of the knowledge. "And then, the carriage or cart would stop, and he'd shout 'Stand and deliver, your money or your life!' while Bobbie held the gun at them threateningly and looked after the horses."
"Of course, neither of them had ever shot anyone, or ever planned to either, but they found that if they held the guns confidently, few people would test that." John continued."
"Hang on, hang on. Who's Bobbie?" Nancy was still trying to get her head around what was going on.
"Bobbie's the girl." Bridget explained impatiently, and John laughed.
"Poor Nancy hasn't heard this story before, Bridget, be patient with her. Bobbie's the name of the girl this story is about, the beautiful rich girl. Her real name's Roberta, but that's rather too posh to go by when you're robbing carriages, and besides, she hates that name. So, where was I? Oh, yes. The driver of the carriage got down, with his hands in the air, walked backwards and yelled to the people in the carriage to 'hand over your goods, or it'll be the worse for ye'. Whoever was in the carriage piled a money bag into the driver's hands, who carried it to Joe. Joe opened it, checked the contents were not fake, and gestured to the driver that he could drive on. Then he and Bobbie retreated to the shadows, and waited for the next vehicle.
"This happened, the same way, every single night. Together, her and Joe would collect as much money as they could, before riding back towards the house.
"The whole thing might seem rather odd, especially considering that Bobbie at least had more money than anyone could possibly desire. But there was a reason for their late night thieving, or Robin Hooding as they called it. Because, once they'd gathered a certain amount of money, or when it was nearing four thirty in the morning, they returned to the house, where Bobbie quickly ran up to her room, washed herself off, and changed, to emerge outside as Miss Roberta, an entirely respectable young lady. Once outside, Joe, who'd looked after the horses, met her again, and helped her to mount, before riding with her as her groom to the large town a few miles away, across the countryside. Here she exchanged all their profit from the night for bread and meat, in large amounts, with which she and Joe filled the saddlebags on their horses. They then rode back across the fields to the village outside of which Roberta lived. Here she dismounted, and walked from door to door providing a loaf of bread and/or a piece of meat to each family. It wasn't enough to feed the whole family, but she hoped that with the food they managed to provide for themselves it would be enough to keep them from starvation. And the villagers understood that they were to know nothing of Bobbie's visits, if anyone asked, and that they must ignore her if she walked by during the daytime, for her parents had forbidden her to talk to 'the dirty peasants who live in that unpleasant place'.
"This scheme worked remarkably well, and for two years Joe and Bobbie managed to keep the town from starvation and their role in it secret. However, something was bound to go wrong, something always does, and in their case, it was very simple."
"They fell in love!" Bridget exclaimed, overjoyed that they had finally reached the romantic part of the story.
"If you know the story so well, why'd you ask me to tell it?" John demanded, and Bridget pulled a face.
"You're the best at telling it."
"That's what you always say!"
"It's true."
John sighed, then obviously decided not to argue.
"They fell in love."
"Who did?" Nancy asked."
"Bobbie and Joe, of course! At first this didn't affect them much, the bread still had to be delivered, and their aim to help the poor was one which would never really go away. But as time passed, their love grew stronger and stronger, and suddenly vague kisses in hidden corners were not enough anymore. They needed to be more. Joe suddenly realised he wanted nothing more than to marry Bobbie, and spend the rest of his life with her. But there was no way her family would let him marry her, and he knew that no matter what she said her family's opinion meant a lot to her. He didn't know what to do. For a while he said nothing, hoping something would happen, something would change. But it became clear it wasn't going to. By this time Joe was 21, and Bobbie 18, both old enough to know for themselves what they wanted.
"So Joe pulled her aside one night, got down on one knee, and asked her if she would marry him. Not straight away, not necessarily even soon, but he asked her to promise she would, eventually, become his wife. She was overjoyed, and immediately said yes.
"But he still knew that her parents would be a problem. And if he asked and they sent him away, if he lost his job, he would lose any way of supporting her, and they would no longer be able to support the village.
"But then, just as he was thinking he would have to go and face her family, the house was struck with terrible tragedy. Bobbie's father developed a strange disease, and was suddenly struck down. He found he could no longer walk anywhere, and he had to be wheeled round the house in a strange chair. Joe was appointed to push the chair around the house, he had to be constantly on hand to help. Joe's younger brother, Sam, took over the running of the stables for him.
"When the villagers heard what had happened to Bobbie's dad, they were very upset, not for him, but for Bobbie, who'd always been so kind to them. They bought gifts up to the house, bunches of flowers, small wood carvings they'd made, and messages. 'We're frightfully sorry', and 'We hope you recover', and 'love to the family in this hard time'. And, more often than not, there was an added note 'we're praying, Roberta', or 'God be with you, Roberta'. Her mother stared at these in astonishment. Who were these people, and how did they know her daughter? One note read: 'Hope your Daddy recovers, Bobbie'. She was baffled. Who on earth was Bobbie? She asked her daughter about it.
"'These villagers, they're being terribly kind.'
"'They are, aren't they,' Bobbie replied, warily. What was her mother up to?'
"'It seems rather odd. I mean, we've never been nice to them.'
"' No...' Bobbie replied. 'It shows their love of God, though. Loving those who don't love you.'
"Her mother had sighed, a strange look in her eyes. 'I sometimes wonder if we're a little too harsh. I mean, yes they're peasants, and below us, but they're still people, and I think sometimes we forget that.'
"Bobbie's eyes widened in shock. 'Do you mean that Ma'am? Really?'
"Her mum thought for a second, then nodded. 'I do. They've been awfully good to us now, when we needed them, and we've never done anything for them. But they seem to have taken a shining to you, my dear. A lot of the messages we've received convey love to Roberta. One even sends love to Bobbie. Who on earth is Bobbie? Do you know, my dear?'
"Bobbie's face flushed red, and her mother stared at her in astonishment. She wondered whether to make up a lie, but then decided not to. Her mother would find out eventually.
"'I'm Bobbie, Ma'am.'
"'You? But your name, child, is Roberta! Why are you Bobbie? I don't understand.'
"Bobbie took a deep breath, muttered a quick prayer, and told her mother the whole story. Her mother sat, speechless, as she listened. A strange look flitted in her eyes.
"'So, all this time, you've been sneaking out with a strange man to look after the villagers.' Her mother's tone didn't sound angry, just curious, with a hint of something else, which Bobbie couldn't quite interpret.
"'He's not a strange man ma'am. He's... We're engaged.' She had chosen to leave this fact out of her original narrative, and she had no idea why it had seemed a good idea to throw it in here.
"Her mother's face froze, displaying a strange mix of emotions, horror, confusion and shock mixed up together with something else. Bobbie stared in confusion as her mother buried her head in her hands and started shaking back and forwards, weird moaning noises proceeding from her.
"'Mother!' She exclaimed desperately, but her mother appeared inconsolable. 'Mother, what's wrong. It's not that bad, I just... Mother! Listen.'
"Suddenly her mother pulled herself together and lifted her head from her hands, and Bobbie was shocked to see she was smiling. The look on her daughters face was too much for Bobbie's mother, and she resumed her laughter.
"It was a while later that she recovered enough to explain to Bobbie that she had 'inherited the family gene for falling in love with the wrong person' and that she herself was of a poor origin and had fallen for Bobbie's father while working as a maid for his mother. She explained that the reason for her ignoring the poor was because it reminded her of her past life (which Bobbie thought a very lame excuse, though she didn't say so) and that as long as Bobbie truly loved Joe she had her mother's support.
"So it was Bobbie's mother that took the tale to Bobbie's father, who immediately granted permission for the union. On hearing the whole tale, he too laughed, and laughed so hard he laughed himself better, or so the doctors claimed, for they could see no other reason for his miraculous recovery.
"Bobbie and Joe got married, and started a beautiful family, with three children, two girls and a boy, and they lived, with Bobbie's parents, in the beautiful manor house, and gave as much support as they could to the people of the village. Although life was hard sometimes, and there were tears, and pains, and upsets, they would both agree that in the end, they had achieved their happily ever after."
There was a brief silence once John had finished, as everyone paused to take in the story. Then Bridget yawned "Thank you, John", and shifted to rest her head on his shoulder.
Nancy smiled at him. "It's a beautiful story."
"It's rather soppy."
"It's a fairytale, they're meant to be. Who wrote it?"
"Erm..." John's face flushed, and Nancy's eyes widened.
"You!" She burst out laughing, and John pulled a face.
"For Bridget... And it's pretty much the same as every other fairytale ever written."
"Alright, alright. I won't laugh. But you have to admit, Commodore, that sailors don't tend to write fairytales."
"I know. Most sailors don't have little baby sisters who wake them up in the night having had nightmares."
"Why you?"
"I listen. The others all got tired of trying to comfort her. Not in a mean way, just that it was every night and they wanted some sleep. I never pushed her away, so now she comes to me."
"But what about when you're at school? What then?"
"I don't know... I suppose she just grins and bears it. Or perhaps it's our presence here that gives her the nightmares! She doesn't seem to get them so frequently anymore, anyway." John glanced affectionately of the now fast asleep girl curled up between him and Nancy. "I suppose we ought to put her back to bed, and probably turn in ourselves. Susan wants us to go shopping tomorrow, remember?"
"I had forced myself to forget. Alright, I suppose we ought to sleep." John saw a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, and could feel similar disappointment rising in his own heart. As much as he loved his sister, she had rather interrupted his evening with Nancy.
"Tell you what," he suggested, "I'll take her up to bed, then come back out for half an hour or so."
Nancy shot him an amused, slightly guilty grin, knowing he'd read her like an open book, and he gathered Bridget into his arms and carried her inside, and up to her room, by which point the motion had roused her enough for her to scramble into bed herself, without really regaining consciousness. Then John retreated back downstairs to Nancy.
...
The next morning the postman arrived with several letters, and the group huddled round to see who had written. There was a letter for Roger, one addressed to Nancy and Co., one for John, and one for Mrs Walker.
The letters went as follows:
Hey Roger,
How're your hols going?
I can't wait till Christmas!
What did John say to…you know what?
Sorry it's rushed, I don't have much time. Mum's calling, but I felt I ought to write!
Fred
…
Dear Nancy and Co.
How is life down in the lakes? (Dick says I should write up, but down sounds better, I think!)
We're having a great time here, though we miss you all most awfully of course. The Broads, though an interesting place, are not quite the same as the lakes, and when we think of you, sitting on Wildcat, drinking cocoa round a roaring fire, we feel quite jealous, sometimes.
Hey there, this is Dick. Ignore my sister, you know how she loves to romanticise everything. I tried to explain it'd be too cold and wet, but she
Wouldn't listen! I know a small amount of cold or wet would never stop Nancy!
Ah, but Susan wouldn't allow it!
Okay, he has a point there. Well, anyway, we only wanted to wish you a very merry Christmas, and hope you are all well. My books is progressing fast, and
I haven't yet found what I was looking for, but we're getting there! I think we caught sight of a nest the other day.
We being Dick!
You were looking as well, and getting quite excited by the search, if I remember correctly.
Only because I could use it as research for my book. I pretended we were searching for treasure.
That makes no sense…
Might not to you. Titty'll understand.
I'll take your word for it.
Anyway, Merry Christmas!
And a Happy New Year,
And we hope we'll see you all soon.
Love
Dorothea and Dick.
P.s. If any of you should catch sight of a flock of Goldeneye, please let me know. But don't get too close to them, they are very shy and you might scare them off.
P.p.s. Titty, what did you think of that book I lent you? It seemed like the sort of thing you'd enjoy.
P.p.p.s. How is Scarab? You'd best be looking after her well. I'm sure they are. Then why'd you ask? To make sure.
P.p.p.p.s. This is the last one, I promise! It was just announced on the news that there's extreme flooding in the lakes. We hope you're all safe. If it gets too dangerous there you can always come down here!
We really are going now! Have a great holiday, all of you.
With all our love, the D's.
…
Dear John,
This is just a quick note to inform you I seem to have returned home with the book you lent me and half of your shirts. Mother demands to know where all mine went. Do you have them? I shall return the book and shirts on the return to school, if you can manage till then.
Peter K.
…
Mrs Walker opened her letter and read it in private. It was Bridget, catching sight of it in her mother's hands, who asked curiously:
"Mother, who's your letter from?"
Titty, sitting next to her, looked up and said "Bridgie, don't be rude," and then caught sight of the hand writing and said:
"Is it from Daddy? It's his handwriting!"
Mrs Walker looked up from reading, a strange expression shining in her eyes, and nodded to Titty.
"Yes, it's from your father, and he wishes you all a very merry Christmas and wishes very much he could be here with us."
"I wish he could be too." Titty added, saying what was on all their hearts.
"Mother, may we each write him a small note, to send back enclosed with your reply?" John asked, and Mother nodded. So each of the Swallows claimed a small sheet of paper, and scrawled down their message to their father, which mother bundled up, and placed in an envelope with a stamp, which she then asked them to post while in town.
...
Thank you for reading.
Also, completely unrelated, for a different fic, if Nancy and John had a daughter, what would she be called?
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BatFink: It makes me happy to see you so enthusiastic about just getting an update... Thanks for the idea, I shall keep it in mind, as I have no real idea what I am doing at the moment. I hope this chapter was worthy of your special number...
constantlearner: Thanks for the support, I hope lots more interesting stuff happens too... Also, as regards your comment about time, it is 100% valid, and I shall try and remember to change that. Your suggestion is useful, please continue to point out any errors.
Lottie T: Thanks, your support is greatly appreciated.
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Thanks to everyone who read this. Remember, any ideas, suggestions, questions, etc. are highly welcome (please send me stuff...)
Just as a warning, I don't know when I'll next update, as I have busy holidays this summer, and lots of summer work. However, I shall strive to do my best and update soon. (But I'm not promising anything, as it would be a promise I cannot guarantee I'll keep.
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All my love,
G4E