Fudge Ripple, Blueberry Yoghurt and Butterscotch
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Her Final Friend (Part III)
Rating: G
Challenge: Fudge Ripple #8: amusement, Blueberry Yoghurt #10: across the miles
Toppings/Extras: butterscotch
Wordcount: 1,193
Summary: Tilly Bishop and Jack Prowse make their way to Reading.
Notes: Follows Part I and Part II. The final part. :)
The road to Reading was surprisingly pleasant once they got used to being out of London. With only a sparse amount of money to their names, they decided to conserve their coins by only riding the stagecoach to Maidenhead and walking the rest of the way to Reading. It was a twelve-mile journey, but Jack seemed certain that the night wouldn’t bother them. He had a small knife tucked into his belt and a sack of belongings slung over his shoulder: he had added Tilly’s clothes and food to his sack and was carrying it for the both of them.
“That is Knowl Hill ahead, isn’t it?” Tilly asked excitedly as she spotted a grassy incline ahead of them. They both walked off of the side of Bath Road; it was the main road by which London corresponded with the South West and thundering stagecoaches did not like to be startled by two youngsters in the middle of the road.
“Bound to be,” Jack said with a grin. He was feeling more hopeful by the hour: the stagecoach driver had told them exactly what to expect between Maidenhead and Reading, and so far, all was well. The sun was quite bright and the tears and terror of the previous night seemed far away.
Until he glanced at Tilly and noticed her chewing fiercely on her lip. This only ever meant that she was worrying terribly.
“Tills?”
“Jack, I’m sorry... I just feel so... I cannot describe it!” the thirteen-year-old said abruptly, her fingers fiddling with the bow that secured her light cape about her neck. “I don’t know why my papa had to do this... what if I do have the plague? Do you think I...?”
She could scarcely continue.
Jack pushed her arm lightly.
“Stop ‘ee worryin’, it ain’t goin’ to be so,” he said with a chipper grin. “Anyway, if ‘ee got plague then I’ve got it too-I’ve touched ‘ee already.” He turned away from her and pretended to be violently sick. “Blegh!”
Although it was hardly appropriate, Tilly giggled uncomfortably.
“Stop that, Jack, you silly chit...”
“Where in Readin’ do yer aunt live, then?” he asked, skipping back to her side. Tilly breathed in the fresh, green air deeply and stared at the miles of grass around them. No wonder her father had packed her walking boots: she had never thought so much grass and mud could exist in the world.
“I’m not exactly sure,” she admitted. “I know ‘tis near the edge, though. The southern edge, I believe. We shall find it easily, won’t we?”
“Sure,” Jack said generously. “In nothin’ more’n a wink.”
They were young and sprightly, and with every passing hour Tilly’s hope of evading the plague increased: it was many hours later that they passed through the town gates into Reading. The town-thriving from its trade in fine cloths-was tucked into the picturesque Thames Valley, and had two rivers looping lazily through its centre: the Thames and the Kennett. Both were languid, blackish rivers that reflected the sunlight like a gleaming coin in the day, and over the spindly rooftops there was a backdrop of lightly rolling hills. On these hills could be spotted the lights (for by the time they arrived it had grown dark) of the small villages that fed mainly from the city they circled: Thatcham, Pangbourne, Cross Keys, Streatley... and more, even smaller chains of houses.
“There is the abbey!” Tilly cried in excitement. “I can remember this place, Jack!”
He looked around, seeming pleased enough as they walked further towards the town centre. They listened the wharves in the river and had a peer at Reading Abbey, which sent shivers down their spines-it had been largely destroyed by England’s most tempestuous of monarchs a few decades earlier, and since then extensive robbery had left it flat and empty, although parts of the building were still uses for schooling and as a town hall.
“’Ow much dosh do we ‘ave left?” Jack asked. Tilly opened the purse she had tucked under her cloak and peered at it.
“Some shillings,” she said, a tad listlessly. “The stagecoach took most of the money.”
“Right,” Jack said uncertainly. “So, ain’t we goin’ to go find this aunt of yours, then?”
“It’s terribly rude to arrive unannounced like this in the night,” Tilly said with some nervousness in her voice. “Especially due to my circumstances... oh! And what will she think of us, together!”
Jack sighed.
“I have an idea, though,” Tilly said, catching him by the wrist and pulling him towards the abbey. “Come with me.”
“In there?” Jack asked, sounding a little panicked. “No thanks, Tills-I really couldn’t. ‘Ave you seen the size o’ the place? And it’s all crumblin’, too. Bet it’s haunted.”
“Don’t be silly,” Tilly sighed. “The hospitium still stands, don’t you see?”
“The wot?”
Although Reading Abbey had been smashed into deficit under King Henry VIII’s unforgiving fist, it was still a popular place for pilgrimage; it was between several of England’s largest cities, and contained many holy relics (most famously the hand of St James) as well as the bodies of many ancient monks and royalty. The hospitium was not as it had been in its glory days-the hundreds of candles and singing through the night were gone-yet it was still there for any pilgrim that needed a place to stay for the night.
The two friends quietly made their way over the slightly unkempt grass, trying not to shiver in the dark and cold. The hospitium was a tall building formed part of red brick and part of sheer stone, with narrow windows lined up in pairs-it looked foreboding in the night, but the two children knocked on the door bravely when they arrived, seeing the light was on in the window, as it was always meant to be. It was only a few minutes before the door was pulled open slowly.
“Children?” asked a thick-waisted woman in a thick apron and a maid’s cap. She held her lantern higher. “Is there nobody with you?”
Tilly found herself glancing around although she knew that her parents were far behind her now.
“Just us,” she replied in a small voice. She made the sign of the cross. “Caeli enarrant gloriam Dei.”
“I am sorry to hear that ‘ee are alone, my poor dears,” the woman said, sounding glad to hear some Latin-it relieved her mind that they were pilgrims instead of beggars looking for a place to sleep, although she would not have turned them away if they were. Tilly turned pink, feeling dishonest when she had only meant to be polite. “Come in, there are some beds free yet.”
The two of them padded quietly into the warmth of the room and saw a large chair where, presumably, the doorwatcher slept.
“The journey is over,” Tilly smiled at Jack as the lady went to fetch blankets to lay on what would be their beds for the night. “We are here, Jack-we are here in Reading, and tomorrow we shall find my aunt, and all shall be well.”