The Past Victorious 4
Dec. 6th, 2012 08:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
galadriel1010Title: The Past Victorious
Chapter Title: Chapter 4
Challenge/Fest: LongLiveIanto Bingo
Prompt: Hobbies
Rating: T
Dedication: For
laligin
Summary: The Rift claims Ianto and sweeps him back into Cardiff's past. With a
bit of luck and quick thinking, he lands firmly on his feet, ready to
help the next wandering traveller and keep him out of Torchwood's
clutches.
Characters: Ianto and Jack
Contains: Homophobia
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
November 1869
Mary bustled about around Jack, carrying food and utensils to and fro between the counters and the small pantry at the back of the room. He tried to keep himself out of the way, having dragged his chair into a corner of the room, but he still felt like there weren’t many places he could be more useless. It was a month since he’d arrived in Cardiff and since the second night, when he’d been attacked in a dark alley, he’d not left the house for fear of someone noticing that he wasn’t still injured by it. Sooner or later he’d be able to risk it, but for now he was ploughing through poetry and learning Welsh when Mary had a spare moment.
Downstairs in the shop the bell over the door rang, sending Ianto’s morning customer on his way. Before very long they heard his steps on the stairs, and he came to join them in the kitchen. “That’s me done for the morning,” he said cheerfully. “And I have all afternoon to do the work, which makes a nice change.”
Jack looked up from his book and shifted his feet out of the way. “What’s this one, then?”
“Terry Atkins’ lad has got a new job at the library, wants a new suit to make a good impression. Short notice sort of thing, so I’m going to push the other stuff back to the weekend, it won’t harm for it.” He dropped into the other chair at the table and leaned back. “I could do with another assistant, but I just don’t have anyone on the cards at the moment.”
“You could train me,” Jack offered.
“As convenient as that would be, you’re not sufficiently native yet, and do you know anything about making clothes.” He conceded that, and Ianto continued, “You’d be more of a hinderance at the moment, sorry.”
Jack nodded and put his book away. “I figured as much. Are you ready for us, Mary?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll bring it through to the parlour for you.” She bobbed at him and smiled, and he followed Ianto through to the parlour in the next room. He still didn’t understand service, but that was one of many things that made him, as Ianto had said, ‘not native’. He also didn’t understand why they couldn’t just eat in the kitchen.
The newspaper was still in the parlour from breakfast, and as Ianto had had actual productive things to do with his day he picked it up and had a glance through it, discarding it when Mary returned to the room with bowls of potato and leek soup and freshly-baked rolls. She left them to it to return to the kitchen, and they set to eating with enthusiasm.
Ianto looked up eventually and nodded at Jack’s book, which he’s put on the corner of the sideboard. “What are you reading at the moment?”
“The Tale of Taliesin; in translation, of course.” He reached across for it and passed it to Ianto. “It’s one of Mary’s, and quite old.”
“Well the Tale of Taliesin is ancient,” Ianto flipped through the first few pages and then handed it back. ”The book must have been in her family for years, and that’s not the sort of thing you’re likely to find in the library.”
“It’s a good story, very catchy.” He finished his lunch andrested his elbow on the table. “I’m nearly finished with it though. I’m running out of books.”
“Well, I might let you out this afternoon,” Ianto teased him. “Get you out from under poor Mary’s feet.”
“Oh thank the deities for that!” He felt guilty as soon as he said it, but couldn’t really regret it. Reading wasn’t his favourite passtime, and getting stuck with nothing else for that long had been almost more than he could cope with. “I need to go and see Jones the Gold, anyway; see if I can catch his jewel dealer before he goes back to London.”
“I think he went last night. Abraham said he’d come over and see you this evening, but you might as well go and see him first.” He leaned back to check that Mary was still in the kitchen and pushed the door to. “Look, I don’t want to pry, but Abraham’s a good friend - they are real jewels, aren’t they?”
“As real as you or I,” Jack assured him. At that, Ianto lookedhighly sarcastic, and Jack sighed. “You know what I mean. They’re real, high quality and safe - most of them. I carry them because they’re not as localised as currency. Most places will at least trade them for food and accommodation, and I’ll get a decent price for them anywhere in the... British Empire.” Mary entered at that moment and Jack raised his eyebrows at Ianto pointedly. “So they’re not all from India, I’ve traveled around a fair bit, but they’re all genuine.”
“That’s a reassurance, but please try not to let it get out.” He folded his napkin away and looked up at Mary. “Have you got any errands to run to get Jack out of the house, Mary?”
“Well now, I have to go to the market, sir, but he could certainly carry my basket for me.” She picked Jack’s plate up and tutted over him. “It’ll do you good to get out of the house and see the city. And I could show you around a bit more, if Mr Jones allows it.”
“I’ll allow it,” he agreed. “Just try to keep him out of trouble.”
Jack laughed and flashed Mary his brightest grin. “You can’t keep me out of trouble - I am trouble.”
“You can say that again, you can.”
****
They left Ianto measuring and cutting fabric in the back room and stepped out onto the high street, with Mary’s basket over Jack’s arm. Winter was well and truly biting now, and the thick fog was icy cold, leaving frost over the few benches and the lamp posts. A few shopboys were returning to work after lunch and gave them polite nods of greeting, and Mary stopped to talk to one of them for a moment.
Jack was grinning when she caught up with him, and offered her his arm to stroll on down the street. “Who was that, then?”
“That’s Tommy, the butcher’s lad.”
“Tommy Jones?”
She scowled at him. “Tommy Williams, Captain Harkness. We’re not all called Jones, we aren’t.”
“Could have fooled me.” He patted her hand and smiled. “But I’ll believe you. So, Tommy Williams; is he a friend of yours?”
“He’s a sweet boy, is Tommy. Lovely smile, and a wicked sense of humour he has.” She laughed. “And he does such lovely cuts of meat. He gave me an extra two sausages the other day, and when I tod him he’d made a mistake he said it wasn’t a mistake and I was to keep them.”
“Well then, he sounds like a keeper. Always keep a man who gives you sausage, that’s what I say.”
She blushed fiercely and released his arm. “There’s Jones the Gold, sir. You wanted to visit him, didn’t you?”
“That I did.” They entered the shop and Jack set Mary’s basket down on the counter. “Mr Jones.”
“Captain Harkness, it’s good to see you up and about again!” He reached across to shake Jack’s hand firmly. “I said to Ianto, if anyone was going to run into trouble with the Barry brothers on their second night in town, it would be you. You’re a trouble magnet and no mistake.”
“I see I’m already getting a reputation.” He grinned. “Mr Jones said you were planning on coming to see me, and as I’ve finally been let out of the house I thought I’d save you a trip.”
“That I were. Mr Douglas was over from London, went home last night so you missed him; he was very impressed with the quality of your gems, especially those garnets and rubies. Beautiful colour and lustre they have, he says you’ve got an eye for red.” He turned to the shelf behind the counter and brought down a stand with a necklace on it. A large deep red garnet was set as the centre of a flower, with the petals alternating gold, siver and mother-of-pearl. “This is one of your garnets, see. The piece is nearly finished, and I need to deliver it to the castle on Monday, for the Marchioness. She wants a new set of jewellery for the new season, and her daughter comes out next summer, so she’ll be wanting a tiara for her and the jewellery and all of it.”
“Sounds like a big job.”
“That it is.” He put the necklace away again and leaned on the counter. “And the Marchioness wants to meet you, she says. That James dined out on his story of meeting you for a week afterwards, maybe two.” Jones tapped the counter. “Tell you what, why don’t you come over on Monday, bring some of your jewels with you. Then the Marchioness can choose what she wants - you’ll get a better price from her than from someone who knows what they’re looking at.”
Jack laughed. “Monday, then. Morning or afternoon?”
“Oh, morning. She likes to come by during her morning constitutional.”Jones shook his hand again and tipped his hat to Mary. “Good day to both of you.”
“Good day, Mr Jones.”
Mary led him down the street towards the castle, pointing out the bakery where she bought anything she didn’t have time to make, the haberdasher where Ianto got his threads and needles and buttons, and the toy shop that her little sister loved.The elegant arcades stretched away from the main street and his book shops, tea rooms, bakeries, gift shops and everything else imaginable. Cardiff was booming, and everyone was in on the act.
Cardiff Castle was an imposing pile at the end of the road, swathed in fog and soot and standing proud above the town. The large gates were firmly closed, and a group of ladies walked sedately past, wrapped tightly in fur coats and mufflers for a chilly promenade, probably either to or from the gardens between the castle and the river.
They turned away from the castle, and Jack stopped by the library to return some of his books. As he was still reading the Tale of Taliesin he didn’t get any more out, and Mary dragged him back out and to the market. It was busier here than anywhere else in the centre of town, with the unrelenting bustle of a lot of people all trying to drown each other out.
Mary ploughed her way through the market efficiently, casting her expert eye over potatoes and carrots, leeks and apples. Where she led, Jack followed, and he held the basket for her to fill it with what seemed like the entire contents of the market. Emerging out the far side, she finished off with two fresh coley fillets and led him back out into the cold.
They went home via the street parallel to the high street, which Jack had taken from the pub. He could see more clearly now than in the light of the guttering streetlamps, and took his time to look in the shop windows and explore properly.
He caught Mary up outside an art shop, where she was hovering thoughtfully. She looked guilty when caught, but he dragged her into the shop to have a look around and caught her looking at a tin of coloured pencils. “”For your sister?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.” She blushed again and turned away firmly. “I’m saving up to get them for her for Christmas; she’s a really good artist, she is. Does beautiful pictures of the castle, and I took her out ot Penarth for the day over the summer, so she could draw the pier.”
Jack smiled. “I’d love to see some of her pictures. I’ve always wanted to learn to draw.” He looked at an art set that had some thick paper, coloured and graphite pencils and a set of oil paints in a beautiful wooden case. “Well, I do need a hobby.”
****
March 1870
There was a knock on the door, and Jack moved aside enough for Ianto to get in to the room to stand behind him. He waited for Ianto’s response and put a finishing flourish to his painting, then gave in and looked over his shoulder to see Ianto’s expression. “Well?”
Ianto was worrying his lower lip, and had his arms folded over his chest. “It’s very good. You’ve learned very quickly. Just... why is it on the wall?”
Jack shrugged and pointed his paintbrush to the window. “Because the view is a bit black and foggy. I wanted something nice to look at.”
“I can understand that, but...” He unfolded his arms and gestured at the mural, which took up the entire wall of Jack’s bedroom.
He’d had to move the desk and the bookcase against the other walls to be able to paint the whole thing. A clear blue sky reached to the ceiling, above a pastoral scene of gently rolling hills dotted with sheep and daisies, that curved down to an arc of golden sand lapped by delicate blue waves. Nestled in a wooded valley, to the left of the door, was a half-timbered, thatched cottage with blue smoke rising from the chimney and roses around the door. It had taken him months to finish it, and it was stilll only a broad outline, really. The colours and shapes were there, as if it were seen from a distance, but Jack had just started putting the details onto a gorse bush by the door.
“I’ll paint over it if you move, if you want me to.”
“No, it’s fine. I like it, and I think anyone else would too.” Ianto smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m impressed, really. When you said you were going to learn to paint, I thought you meant watercolours in a sketchbook, not Sussex in your bedroom.”
“Well, I was more likely to spot where I was going wrong if I stared at it every day,” he pointed out, standing up. “I thought about continuing it onto another wall, or taking over another room. Maybe I could paint the Highlands in your room.”
“I’d love to see one of your paintings in my room.” Ianto took a step closer, keeping his eyes on the wall but encroaching on Jack’s personal space. He rested his hand on Jack’s arm and finally looked at him. “You have hidden talents.”
“Sir,” Mary called, and Ianto stepped away suddenly, out from behind the door so that he could see her. “I’m going to do some baking, I am. Is there anything you’d like me to do specially?”
“There is.” He gestured at the wall and beckoned her in to look at it. “Will you save our walls and Jack’s sanity and teach him to bake?”
“Mercy me,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it, I haven’t. I’ll teach him, sir, but if he’s as quick at learning that as he learned to paint, I’ll be out of a job, I will.”
“You’ll always be better company than he is,” Ianto assured her. “But he has to earn his keep somehow.”
She laughed and bobbed at them. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready, then, Captain. Be sure to wash those hands before you even think about touching food, though.”
Jack saluted, and waited until he’d heard her go back downstairs before he turned back to Ianto. “She wouldn’t say anything, Ianto.”
“That’s not the point, and the risk is too big.” He shrugged his jacket off and folded it over his arm. “I’m going to go and finish that suit for Owain Thomas. Have a good afternoon.”
With that he was gone, and Jack growled as he turned to wash his hands in the cold water still in the basin from that morning.
****
September 1870
Jack cracked the last egg on the edge of the bowl, let the contents spill into the mix and discarded the shell with the other two on the counter. He brushed those into the bin with one hand and then picked up the bowl and started beating the eggs in with the thick paste of butter, flour and sugar. Mary was at the table making a rabbit pie, and he strolled around her as he mixed, peering over her shoulder as he went until she waved him away. A drop of violet oil into the batter for a twist, and then he gave it one last stir and poured the mix into a ready-lined cake box and pushed it into the oven, turning away and brushing his hands off.
“I’m sure it’s bad luck for the bride to see the cake before her wedding,” he told Mary idly, drifting up behind her again. “”Isn’t that what they say?”
“That’s the dress,” she corrected him, “and the Lord knows Ianto’s taking no chances there, he isn’t. I’ll be lucky if I’m allowed to see it tomorrow!”
“We’ll all get to see it tomorrow.” Jack grinned and squeezed her shoulders. “Our little Mary, all grown up.”
“I shalln’t be your little Mary, anymore.” She scoffed. “Not that I ever was, Jack Harkness.” The new maid, who was replacing Mary after her wedding, appeared in the doorway and hovered like a frightened rabbit. “Jane, have you finished the beds?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then you can go downstairs and see if Mr Jones has a need for you, and if he hasn’t you can go and do Captain Harkness’s errands, you can.” She watched Jane go and shook her head. “She’s been a quick learner, she has, but not so fast as you. If I had a girl learned as fast as you I’d be as happy as anything.”
“She’ll take a lot of training before she can match you.”
“That she will, and you’ll not be here to do it.” They both looked up as the bell over the shop door jingled and then went back to what they were doing. “It’s going to be strange here for Ianto with me going and then you going too. I wish you’d stay a bit longer, I do.”
“I think Ianto needs his house back.” Jack checked on the bread dough that was proving by the range and turned it out onto the counter to beging kneading it. “It was fun whilst it lasted, and I’m grateful that he took me in, but it’s time.”
“Ianto doesn’t want you to go.”
“Ianto,” Jack sighed, “wants things to be different. But if wishes were riches he’d never need to work again.” He shook his head. “Time moves on for all of us, and we can but follow.”
She nodded and set the pie on the cold shelf, where it would wait until her wedding cake was ready and it was safe to open the oven door. “I’m going to miss you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Miss me? Like you’re getting rid of me that easily. I’m expecting to have a christening cake to bake before very long, and I’ll have to come around for your tea - you know Ianto can’t get it right.”
“Christening cake before the end of next year,” she promised. “And you know I’ll always have the tea on for you.”
Chapter Title: Chapter 4
Challenge/Fest: LongLiveIanto Bingo
Prompt: Hobbies
Rating: T
Dedication: For
laliginSummary: The Rift claims Ianto and sweeps him back into Cardiff's past. With a
bit of luck and quick thinking, he lands firmly on his feet, ready to
help the next wandering traveller and keep him out of Torchwood's
clutches.
Characters: Ianto and Jack
Contains: Homophobia
Disclaimer: Torchwood and its environs, occurrences and persons belong to the BBC. The original characters have disowned me.
November 1869
Mary bustled about around Jack, carrying food and utensils to and fro between the counters and the small pantry at the back of the room. He tried to keep himself out of the way, having dragged his chair into a corner of the room, but he still felt like there weren’t many places he could be more useless. It was a month since he’d arrived in Cardiff and since the second night, when he’d been attacked in a dark alley, he’d not left the house for fear of someone noticing that he wasn’t still injured by it. Sooner or later he’d be able to risk it, but for now he was ploughing through poetry and learning Welsh when Mary had a spare moment.
Downstairs in the shop the bell over the door rang, sending Ianto’s morning customer on his way. Before very long they heard his steps on the stairs, and he came to join them in the kitchen. “That’s me done for the morning,” he said cheerfully. “And I have all afternoon to do the work, which makes a nice change.”
Jack looked up from his book and shifted his feet out of the way. “What’s this one, then?”
“Terry Atkins’ lad has got a new job at the library, wants a new suit to make a good impression. Short notice sort of thing, so I’m going to push the other stuff back to the weekend, it won’t harm for it.” He dropped into the other chair at the table and leaned back. “I could do with another assistant, but I just don’t have anyone on the cards at the moment.”
“You could train me,” Jack offered.
“As convenient as that would be, you’re not sufficiently native yet, and do you know anything about making clothes.” He conceded that, and Ianto continued, “You’d be more of a hinderance at the moment, sorry.”
Jack nodded and put his book away. “I figured as much. Are you ready for us, Mary?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll bring it through to the parlour for you.” She bobbed at him and smiled, and he followed Ianto through to the parlour in the next room. He still didn’t understand service, but that was one of many things that made him, as Ianto had said, ‘not native’. He also didn’t understand why they couldn’t just eat in the kitchen.
The newspaper was still in the parlour from breakfast, and as Ianto had had actual productive things to do with his day he picked it up and had a glance through it, discarding it when Mary returned to the room with bowls of potato and leek soup and freshly-baked rolls. She left them to it to return to the kitchen, and they set to eating with enthusiasm.
Ianto looked up eventually and nodded at Jack’s book, which he’s put on the corner of the sideboard. “What are you reading at the moment?”
“The Tale of Taliesin; in translation, of course.” He reached across for it and passed it to Ianto. “It’s one of Mary’s, and quite old.”
“Well the Tale of Taliesin is ancient,” Ianto flipped through the first few pages and then handed it back. ”The book must have been in her family for years, and that’s not the sort of thing you’re likely to find in the library.”
“It’s a good story, very catchy.” He finished his lunch andrested his elbow on the table. “I’m nearly finished with it though. I’m running out of books.”
“Well, I might let you out this afternoon,” Ianto teased him. “Get you out from under poor Mary’s feet.”
“Oh thank the deities for that!” He felt guilty as soon as he said it, but couldn’t really regret it. Reading wasn’t his favourite passtime, and getting stuck with nothing else for that long had been almost more than he could cope with. “I need to go and see Jones the Gold, anyway; see if I can catch his jewel dealer before he goes back to London.”
“I think he went last night. Abraham said he’d come over and see you this evening, but you might as well go and see him first.” He leaned back to check that Mary was still in the kitchen and pushed the door to. “Look, I don’t want to pry, but Abraham’s a good friend - they are real jewels, aren’t they?”
“As real as you or I,” Jack assured him. At that, Ianto lookedhighly sarcastic, and Jack sighed. “You know what I mean. They’re real, high quality and safe - most of them. I carry them because they’re not as localised as currency. Most places will at least trade them for food and accommodation, and I’ll get a decent price for them anywhere in the... British Empire.” Mary entered at that moment and Jack raised his eyebrows at Ianto pointedly. “So they’re not all from India, I’ve traveled around a fair bit, but they’re all genuine.”
“That’s a reassurance, but please try not to let it get out.” He folded his napkin away and looked up at Mary. “Have you got any errands to run to get Jack out of the house, Mary?”
“Well now, I have to go to the market, sir, but he could certainly carry my basket for me.” She picked Jack’s plate up and tutted over him. “It’ll do you good to get out of the house and see the city. And I could show you around a bit more, if Mr Jones allows it.”
“I’ll allow it,” he agreed. “Just try to keep him out of trouble.”
Jack laughed and flashed Mary his brightest grin. “You can’t keep me out of trouble - I am trouble.”
“You can say that again, you can.”
****
They left Ianto measuring and cutting fabric in the back room and stepped out onto the high street, with Mary’s basket over Jack’s arm. Winter was well and truly biting now, and the thick fog was icy cold, leaving frost over the few benches and the lamp posts. A few shopboys were returning to work after lunch and gave them polite nods of greeting, and Mary stopped to talk to one of them for a moment.
Jack was grinning when she caught up with him, and offered her his arm to stroll on down the street. “Who was that, then?”
“That’s Tommy, the butcher’s lad.”
“Tommy Jones?”
She scowled at him. “Tommy Williams, Captain Harkness. We’re not all called Jones, we aren’t.”
“Could have fooled me.” He patted her hand and smiled. “But I’ll believe you. So, Tommy Williams; is he a friend of yours?”
“He’s a sweet boy, is Tommy. Lovely smile, and a wicked sense of humour he has.” She laughed. “And he does such lovely cuts of meat. He gave me an extra two sausages the other day, and when I tod him he’d made a mistake he said it wasn’t a mistake and I was to keep them.”
“Well then, he sounds like a keeper. Always keep a man who gives you sausage, that’s what I say.”
She blushed fiercely and released his arm. “There’s Jones the Gold, sir. You wanted to visit him, didn’t you?”
“That I did.” They entered the shop and Jack set Mary’s basket down on the counter. “Mr Jones.”
“Captain Harkness, it’s good to see you up and about again!” He reached across to shake Jack’s hand firmly. “I said to Ianto, if anyone was going to run into trouble with the Barry brothers on their second night in town, it would be you. You’re a trouble magnet and no mistake.”
“I see I’m already getting a reputation.” He grinned. “Mr Jones said you were planning on coming to see me, and as I’ve finally been let out of the house I thought I’d save you a trip.”
“That I were. Mr Douglas was over from London, went home last night so you missed him; he was very impressed with the quality of your gems, especially those garnets and rubies. Beautiful colour and lustre they have, he says you’ve got an eye for red.” He turned to the shelf behind the counter and brought down a stand with a necklace on it. A large deep red garnet was set as the centre of a flower, with the petals alternating gold, siver and mother-of-pearl. “This is one of your garnets, see. The piece is nearly finished, and I need to deliver it to the castle on Monday, for the Marchioness. She wants a new set of jewellery for the new season, and her daughter comes out next summer, so she’ll be wanting a tiara for her and the jewellery and all of it.”
“Sounds like a big job.”
“That it is.” He put the necklace away again and leaned on the counter. “And the Marchioness wants to meet you, she says. That James dined out on his story of meeting you for a week afterwards, maybe two.” Jones tapped the counter. “Tell you what, why don’t you come over on Monday, bring some of your jewels with you. Then the Marchioness can choose what she wants - you’ll get a better price from her than from someone who knows what they’re looking at.”
Jack laughed. “Monday, then. Morning or afternoon?”
“Oh, morning. She likes to come by during her morning constitutional.”Jones shook his hand again and tipped his hat to Mary. “Good day to both of you.”
“Good day, Mr Jones.”
Mary led him down the street towards the castle, pointing out the bakery where she bought anything she didn’t have time to make, the haberdasher where Ianto got his threads and needles and buttons, and the toy shop that her little sister loved.The elegant arcades stretched away from the main street and his book shops, tea rooms, bakeries, gift shops and everything else imaginable. Cardiff was booming, and everyone was in on the act.
Cardiff Castle was an imposing pile at the end of the road, swathed in fog and soot and standing proud above the town. The large gates were firmly closed, and a group of ladies walked sedately past, wrapped tightly in fur coats and mufflers for a chilly promenade, probably either to or from the gardens between the castle and the river.
They turned away from the castle, and Jack stopped by the library to return some of his books. As he was still reading the Tale of Taliesin he didn’t get any more out, and Mary dragged him back out and to the market. It was busier here than anywhere else in the centre of town, with the unrelenting bustle of a lot of people all trying to drown each other out.
Mary ploughed her way through the market efficiently, casting her expert eye over potatoes and carrots, leeks and apples. Where she led, Jack followed, and he held the basket for her to fill it with what seemed like the entire contents of the market. Emerging out the far side, she finished off with two fresh coley fillets and led him back out into the cold.
They went home via the street parallel to the high street, which Jack had taken from the pub. He could see more clearly now than in the light of the guttering streetlamps, and took his time to look in the shop windows and explore properly.
He caught Mary up outside an art shop, where she was hovering thoughtfully. She looked guilty when caught, but he dragged her into the shop to have a look around and caught her looking at a tin of coloured pencils. “”For your sister?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.” She blushed again and turned away firmly. “I’m saving up to get them for her for Christmas; she’s a really good artist, she is. Does beautiful pictures of the castle, and I took her out ot Penarth for the day over the summer, so she could draw the pier.”
Jack smiled. “I’d love to see some of her pictures. I’ve always wanted to learn to draw.” He looked at an art set that had some thick paper, coloured and graphite pencils and a set of oil paints in a beautiful wooden case. “Well, I do need a hobby.”
****
March 1870
There was a knock on the door, and Jack moved aside enough for Ianto to get in to the room to stand behind him. He waited for Ianto’s response and put a finishing flourish to his painting, then gave in and looked over his shoulder to see Ianto’s expression. “Well?”
Ianto was worrying his lower lip, and had his arms folded over his chest. “It’s very good. You’ve learned very quickly. Just... why is it on the wall?”
Jack shrugged and pointed his paintbrush to the window. “Because the view is a bit black and foggy. I wanted something nice to look at.”
“I can understand that, but...” He unfolded his arms and gestured at the mural, which took up the entire wall of Jack’s bedroom.
He’d had to move the desk and the bookcase against the other walls to be able to paint the whole thing. A clear blue sky reached to the ceiling, above a pastoral scene of gently rolling hills dotted with sheep and daisies, that curved down to an arc of golden sand lapped by delicate blue waves. Nestled in a wooded valley, to the left of the door, was a half-timbered, thatched cottage with blue smoke rising from the chimney and roses around the door. It had taken him months to finish it, and it was stilll only a broad outline, really. The colours and shapes were there, as if it were seen from a distance, but Jack had just started putting the details onto a gorse bush by the door.
“I’ll paint over it if you move, if you want me to.”
“No, it’s fine. I like it, and I think anyone else would too.” Ianto smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m impressed, really. When you said you were going to learn to paint, I thought you meant watercolours in a sketchbook, not Sussex in your bedroom.”
“Well, I was more likely to spot where I was going wrong if I stared at it every day,” he pointed out, standing up. “I thought about continuing it onto another wall, or taking over another room. Maybe I could paint the Highlands in your room.”
“I’d love to see one of your paintings in my room.” Ianto took a step closer, keeping his eyes on the wall but encroaching on Jack’s personal space. He rested his hand on Jack’s arm and finally looked at him. “You have hidden talents.”
“Sir,” Mary called, and Ianto stepped away suddenly, out from behind the door so that he could see her. “I’m going to do some baking, I am. Is there anything you’d like me to do specially?”
“There is.” He gestured at the wall and beckoned her in to look at it. “Will you save our walls and Jack’s sanity and teach him to bake?”
“Mercy me,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it, I haven’t. I’ll teach him, sir, but if he’s as quick at learning that as he learned to paint, I’ll be out of a job, I will.”
“You’ll always be better company than he is,” Ianto assured her. “But he has to earn his keep somehow.”
She laughed and bobbed at them. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready, then, Captain. Be sure to wash those hands before you even think about touching food, though.”
Jack saluted, and waited until he’d heard her go back downstairs before he turned back to Ianto. “She wouldn’t say anything, Ianto.”
“That’s not the point, and the risk is too big.” He shrugged his jacket off and folded it over his arm. “I’m going to go and finish that suit for Owain Thomas. Have a good afternoon.”
With that he was gone, and Jack growled as he turned to wash his hands in the cold water still in the basin from that morning.
****
September 1870
Jack cracked the last egg on the edge of the bowl, let the contents spill into the mix and discarded the shell with the other two on the counter. He brushed those into the bin with one hand and then picked up the bowl and started beating the eggs in with the thick paste of butter, flour and sugar. Mary was at the table making a rabbit pie, and he strolled around her as he mixed, peering over her shoulder as he went until she waved him away. A drop of violet oil into the batter for a twist, and then he gave it one last stir and poured the mix into a ready-lined cake box and pushed it into the oven, turning away and brushing his hands off.
“I’m sure it’s bad luck for the bride to see the cake before her wedding,” he told Mary idly, drifting up behind her again. “”Isn’t that what they say?”
“That’s the dress,” she corrected him, “and the Lord knows Ianto’s taking no chances there, he isn’t. I’ll be lucky if I’m allowed to see it tomorrow!”
“We’ll all get to see it tomorrow.” Jack grinned and squeezed her shoulders. “Our little Mary, all grown up.”
“I shalln’t be your little Mary, anymore.” She scoffed. “Not that I ever was, Jack Harkness.” The new maid, who was replacing Mary after her wedding, appeared in the doorway and hovered like a frightened rabbit. “Jane, have you finished the beds?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then you can go downstairs and see if Mr Jones has a need for you, and if he hasn’t you can go and do Captain Harkness’s errands, you can.” She watched Jane go and shook her head. “She’s been a quick learner, she has, but not so fast as you. If I had a girl learned as fast as you I’d be as happy as anything.”
“She’ll take a lot of training before she can match you.”
“That she will, and you’ll not be here to do it.” They both looked up as the bell over the shop door jingled and then went back to what they were doing. “It’s going to be strange here for Ianto with me going and then you going too. I wish you’d stay a bit longer, I do.”
“I think Ianto needs his house back.” Jack checked on the bread dough that was proving by the range and turned it out onto the counter to beging kneading it. “It was fun whilst it lasted, and I’m grateful that he took me in, but it’s time.”
“Ianto doesn’t want you to go.”
“Ianto,” Jack sighed, “wants things to be different. But if wishes were riches he’d never need to work again.” He shook his head. “Time moves on for all of us, and we can but follow.”
She nodded and set the pie on the cold shelf, where it would wait until her wedding cake was ready and it was safe to open the oven door. “I’m going to miss you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Miss me? Like you’re getting rid of me that easily. I’m expecting to have a christening cake to bake before very long, and I’ll have to come around for your tea - you know Ianto can’t get it right.”
“Christening cake before the end of next year,” she promised. “And you know I’ll always have the tea on for you.”
