XVII

It was not an easy battle, but she won in the end. Ben didn't think there was a thing in the world he would not do for Lissie if she but asked, and to see Jiggy Nye, she had pleaded. Not with batting lashes or cross and sulky threatening, but with the gentle reasoning that he was unequipped to match. He wished she would ask for something selfish, like the finest gown that money could purchase, or a barouche and a host of footmen. But that was not his Lissie. His Lissie would ask for things to benefit others, all while insisting it was for her own good.

He did not let her go alone, and was glad she did not think to ask it of him. They were quiet on their walk through town, and Ben silently appreciated the confident way his wife traversed paths that were once utterly foreign to her. She did not hesitate but once, and that was when they stood before the gaol house and she leaned on Ben to help her up the steps rather than use her cane.

Whatever the outside appearance, the inside of a gaol was no kind circumstance. It pained Ben to think Lissie had grown up in similar lodgings to the ones brigands, murderers, and debtors were made to suffer in their cells, and he was displeased she was in such surroundings again.

Even so, he waited just outside the cell with no complaint, less than two feet away from Lissie as she set down a basket of food, a flask of clean water, and a warm blanket near the wretched form of Jiggy Nye.

The man was in a dreadful state. He was never what one would consider clean and hale, but without the means to alcohol or bathing of any sort, his gruff and dirty appearance had escalated tenfold. It was hard to tell what was filth and what was beard, as dark smudges covered his entire face. The hands that were balled into dirty fists peeked out from the threads of what must have been a white shirt at one time. He huddled in the shadows like one resigned to death. Ben had seen that look before, but he refused to compare Lissie's despair to his. In the gloomy lantern light, under such conditions, Jiggy Nye looked very small.

Ben thought at first he would not even notice when Lissie set down her basket, but the ragged man raised his eyes, and with a strangled cry said her name.

"Felicity?"

She froze, still stooping with a hand on the basket. "You have never called me that, before." He merely stared in some state between shock and fear. "By my name."

"Yer true alive? Not some ghost to haunt me?"

"I am alive," she said in a hush, and then she straightened to her full height, casting oddly long shadows so that it almost seemed as though she loomed over the broken man. "I brought you some things... food, a blanket, clean water. I know what it is like to live without food," she said with meaning, "to lie awake at night from the ache in my belly, and no comfort from the cold. You may have been a terrible father, but I did not feel right knowing you were here and doing nothing to help."

Jiggy Nye was undergoing some inner battle. He looked as if he wanted nothing more than to make quick work of the bread and cheese taunting him beneath the cloth, but pride got the best of him and he merely sniffed and turned away.

"You can't fool me, Mr. Nye," Lissie said icily. "You wouldn't go a single night in the cold without boxing my ears in an effort to warm yourself. I know you'll take the things the moment we've gone. I didn't come only to give you these things. I want you to know that I'm not afraid of you anymore."

Lissie turned with a light swish of her skirts, and took one last look over her shoulder. "If you should be freed, please do not look for me. Do not speak to me, or even acknowledge that we know each other if we should have the misfortune of passing in the street. My husband is an excellent shot, and if he should find out that you have disobeyed my wishes, he will make good use of his aim."

She let out a long breath as if it had sapped all her energy to say what she had.

"Good day, Mr. Nye."

Ben had no heed for time or place when they came outside again. He stooped and graced his Lissie's cheek with a kiss. "I am glad he knows I'm a good shot."

"Oh, Ben!" She clutched his arm rather than taking back her walking stick, "I was so frightened! I knew he would not hurt me with you there, but I was still terribly afraid."

"You did not look it. But why did you go? You could have let me warn him. You didn't need to bring him food and things."

"I cannot let his cruel nature spoil mine. And, perhaps... I wanted him to know that he hasn't won; that I live and breathe and will be happy while he sits miserable in that cell, depending on the kindness of others."

Ben expelled a sigh. "You were splendid, Lissie."

"I believe you would say that whatever the case," she smiled, "But I wish to go home, now."

"Then home we shall go."

Ben chose not to take them by the way they came. Lissie surmised he was enjoying their walk, as they were not often able to stroll together, and wished to take a longer way back. She was surprised, but said nothing when he led her down a small lane, darkened by the hedging of trees on either side; something of a rarity in their open, public town. Her gloved hand rested on his arm, and as they were away from prying eyes, she let her head fall against his shoulder as they walked.

Ben took advantage of their privacy to pry her glove off, finger by finger, until the entire article was tucked safely into his pocket, and her bare fingers entwined in his.

He stopped then, and brought her to stand facing him. "Well," he said with a hopeful smile.

"Well?" Lissie playfully captured his other hand, "I thought you were taking me home, Benjamin Davidson, but you've brought me to a secret grove. Have you grown too shy to kiss me in the open?"

"No, sweet Lissie. I've brought you home... if you like it."

She searched his features for clarity, but was only met with mischief in his gaze. She followed it to see they stood before a modest white cottage that had been entirely hidden from the main road. It was graced with two sets of windows, the lower ones sporting fresh brown shutters, and a brick chimney right alongside the house. The little plot of land in front was sectioned by a whitewashed fence that came just above Lissie's waist. The remnants of a garden were there; whoever owned the house had once taken great pains to grow all types of colourful flora, and behind the herbs a few rogue vines were escaping over the fence.

"What... what can you mean?" Lissie stammered. "This...? This is home?"

"Our home, Lissie. Our very own. Can't you see yourself as mistress here?" he teased, "It is small, perhaps, but..."

"No," she shook her head vehemently. "I won't hear you say a word to disparage it, for it is the most charming and beautiful house I have ever seen. This cannot be real. Is this truly ours?"

"Truly," he said, and knowing there was but one way to make her believe it, he impressed the truth of his words with a kiss. He was most certainly not shy in regards to demonstrating his love upon her in open places.

Her eyes were closed, her nose inches from his as she heaved a little sigh and said, "Might you tell me once again that this is really ours?"

He indulged her, not at all feeling it a sacrifice to make promises that way.

"Should you like to see the inside?" He reached into the coat pocket that held her glove, and pulled out a brass key. "I will let my lady do the honours."

"Ben," she whispered, as the key slipped into her hand, and she was so very glad he took her glove so that she could feel the cool brass within her palm.

She reached for her walking stick, but Ben refused to return it to her. Instead, he set it against the fence, swung his Lissie up into his arms, and carried her to the door of their home.