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The two stayed on the ground holding each other after Ophelia spoke, seemingly both unable to comment further and let themselves enjoy the closeness. That is until the woman heard the growl of her stomach and they both yielded to lunch. The world came rushing back dizzyingly as they both shakily stood up, the sounds of the city buzzing beneath them, and the sun now shining fiercely enough to start to dissipate the remaining snow after so many had already turned it to mush on the streets. Ophelia enjoyed the touch of the winter sun on her back as well as the lingering warmth from John’s embrace, his scent now of burnt maple wood and weathered pages with her as well. They stood facing each other silently before walking over towards the small kitchen area where John motioned towards the pot of soup her brother had left for them and she nodded in response before going to make a fresh pot of tea. What could either of them have said after such a surprising turn of events?

Ophelia let herself focus on making another pot of tea, but could feel the tingling of the man’s scars from where her lips met them and her longing to meet his lips. She looked over briefly at him to see he had glanced back at her as well and she watched his darkened lips tilt into a shy smile before getting back to work on heating the soup up. She surely promised herself to meet his lips by the end of this night as well as cursing her stomach for interrupting them. They both got to the point where all they could do was wait and the woman found it within herself to break the peaceful silence.

“You know, The Jenkins have been great friends to those in Goodsheaven for many years. Ernest has known Sister Bridget, who now runs the library there, for over twenty years at least. He supplies them with the newest publications as often as he can. That’s how I came to know of him, working with her. She pens letters to him at least once a month as a fond friend and literary fiend. “ Ophelia leaned back against the small counter as her friend stood within an arm’s reach listening to her with rapt attention.

“I wouldn’t imagine such a place having many books beyond your bible,” he said as his face twisted into curiosity and slight disbelief. The woman looked back in slight shock at such an assumption,

“Oh, that is simply not true. People of the faith have been literate for centuries, even though the darkest of times. Many of the Fathers and Sisters I know are far better read than I will ever be and dare I say, hunger more heavily for works of the world than I. You might even find a few with your level of poetic appreciation.” The man nodded, grateful to the idea and silently thanked Lia for the slight correction, even a bit embarrassed.

“As long as they would not have the intention to convert me, I would very much enjoy such company, though I doubt their mercy even commanded by your God would extend upon me with true kindness,” John said easily and with a smiling sigh. Lia felt her heart fall a bit for it seemed he did not see the sadness of his statement. She searched his eyes worriedly and his face turned to shame. She reached out her hand to grasp his arm about to speak but he quickly said,

“Excuse my usual self-flagellations. I know they torment you so but it is what I feel. I would dearly hope that it were not true and such people knew the kindness of their religions within themselves truly.” John looked down as Ophelia stroked his arm comfortingly, proud of his own correction.

“You would have to meet the sisters at least once at Goodsheaven. The sisters at the ward, I think, have grown as hard as the brick and darkness that surrounds them and therefore are hardly an example of a more studious person of faith. Their work is most wonderful and needed though, God bless them. The women I worked with for those years were as gentle as lambs unless mischief was about. ” John’s hand laid over hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as he brought her hand to his chest almost unconsciously and she felt his heartbeat once more and she felt herself grow quiet as she wished for her head to rest where her hand lie.

“Miss Ives once told me her experience in the faith was none too gentle to her, and made mention of nuns giving her cause for worry. I assumed such personage were the cause of her religion’s arduousness nature for her.” Lia felt her thoughts grow slightly fuzzy as now the man’s fingers slowly drifted over the back of her hand in thought and she drew herself slightly closer to him. She felt honored that he was able to at least speak to her more freely of Miss Ives even if his family were to remain a secret for now. She vaguely remembered hearing snippets of that conversation when she had spied upon the two friends’ months before as well. She felt painfully sorry for the woman’s mistreatment whatever it was and more so now than before, wished she could speak to the Miss Ives herself. But she wondered,

“Perhaps she brought mischief to nuns she had met before. I myself may have done such small acts of disagreeable behavior to get a stern eye in past years,” she admitted impishly, wondering if such a gentle woman could have been a bit of a rascal in her youth as much as Lia herself may have been on occasion.The man grinned at her wicked admission asking,

"Surely I would have thought you a guiltless cherub among the lord's flock." His voice conveyed his disbelief and went to show how well the woman had learned to rein herself and her secrets in over the years. Yet again, John must have viewed her as the goddess of mercy from once they had begun speaking . She took an almost childish delight sometimes in relenting her more human nature to him always to see the man only grow yet more fond of her. But he kept himself clasped tightly shut all this time. He would speak endlessly to her of philosophy, society, of course poetry but had always steered gently around the topic of himself. So, she learned to let the conversations be about her as unbalanced as they were. One day soon she planned to tip the scales back into balance. She kept her contented expression even as she plotted.

"Mr. Clare!,” she started jokingly, “ You said yourself I was an angel once, and so...for the most part..I was. Unless I was a mouse hungry for a bit of cheese. Sister Margaret was in charge of the kitchen and though stern, took me in when I snuck away from chores. I always felt like I was about to be caught in a mouse trap under her gaze, but she somehow always let me get away with a little nibble on whatever she was working on. She even taught me how to bake, though that is about all I can do. If it involves an oven I have hefty chance of the food surviving."

"What a useful set of skills then, Miss Broderick," he said in joking admonishment, taking on the tone of an elder, which in truth he was. He might of been five to ten years older than her, she guessed from how he looked. Not that she minded. The men of her age besides Aron, most of the time were always naive, prancing, little fools expecting her to swoon at every dripping cliche they spoke. And that was from what little she had experienced of them. None of them could match John's natural ease of intelligence or his serious aura which she preferred. Years of living with Carmelite nuns gives one such a preference. She had learned to appreciate the silence and solitude of the life in the convent and even more so the people that could enjoy such things outside of it. She remembered Mother Franciose, the abbess speaking to them of how only in solitude and silence could one not only commune with the lord better but with themselves.

'One is only distracted from learning about oneself with talking to others and therefore those that prattle to others all day stay as naive as a babe,' she had instructed when Lia had arrived as their ward initially. She never did fully quit herself of the habit of speaking over-much, to Mother Francoise's disappointment but she set herself to being a divine example in other ways and slowly earned all the Sisters' love which she had been so far from her at home. she still viewed the sisters more as family in many ways for the love they shared.

The woman quickly brought herself back from getting too lost in her own thoughts and looked down in a feigned shame to his feigned sternness.

"Such things have served me well. It seems you have perhaps a similar set of tools which you may pull from as needed. Perhaps not baking, but hiding as you have said. Building is a wonderful talent that indeed as well and I wish to see your work one day. Perhaps Vincent would take you back on." she started trying her usual gentle lean towards him, hoping he would have been eased into answering after her rambles this morning. She watched his face turn from that of the elder to a scolded child as she mentioned Vincent. He had done something wrong there at the theatre. That was what his expression told her. Something bad enough that he left the company of whom he considered a good friend. She had watched him shift with minor discomfort every time the old theatre manager had been mentioned. She longed to know what could have been so terrible, but as it was she would have to continue to glean such things from his reactions. The dance of her peering within him would continue with such gentle swaying of conversation. She wondered if she could convince him to dance with her as she had once seen him and Miss Ives did.

She wasn't necessarily fond of the stiff dancing at balls but the thought of being held in a the arms of an intimate friend as they slowly twirled about made her internally swoon. She felt like a silly lovesick child at her own reaction but yet adored the sensation of it all. For today all the blooms of relationship she had planted and tended to with her friend had finally bloomed this day. It was the pagan festival of their love: she longed to dance around the maypole and make flower wreaths for her and John to wear. He would, gently try to convince her he did not dance and could not wear such a ring of flowers but she would win in the end.

Her vision was broken by the sound of the teapot singing and the boil of the soup. She set to work on bringing two thin wood blocks to the table for the two pots and the man quietly followed her lead. She would have to tip the scales of conversation once more.

"But no worries about that. I'm sure old Ernest will keep you plenty busy and if Aron has his way, you'd be chained to the kitchen whenever he cooks if you have the ability to help. You know, Ernest was the one who offered me this chance here in London to work alongside the active orders. Sister Bridgette admitted they spoke of me in their exchanges. Once he learned I was not a novice there and merely a ward he was very firm in his offer of bringing me into 'good company in society' and treating me as if I were his own daughter. Sister Bridgette must have spoken well enough for me, though she always had kept her letters to herself," the woman went on for a bit lightly as the two brought the pots over before going back for bowls, cups, and silverware. The man seemed at least a pinch more amused and found his voice again,

"Do you see him as a father then, at least here in London?"

"Naturally. What I would have given to have grown up climbing bookshelves and learning to run a shop with such a kindly person.But alas all I can do is give him the affection and attention of a daughter. I usually visit him for supper twice a week since Aron is usually working late with friends as is it. There is always a good bit of conversation to savor or a fun bit of discourse to have. And of course talk of the newest publications," Ophelia spoke as she went to the main door leaving John by the table to check if the milk had been left for Aron's tea by Mrs. Jenkins. Indeed it had been, and Lord she had a quiet step for the woman had not been heard dropping it off. As she closed the door again the man seemed more at ease.

"Then I suppose it would be an honor to meet your chosen father. Though I fear my skills in the art of polite discourse and my lack of knowledge in current works are sorely lacking." The woman brought the milk to the table barely containing a laugh,

"Oh Ho, that won't stop him from utterly imploring you to read some the popular publications. I swear to the heavens above, his obsessions know no bounds. I keep trying to tell him I wish to focus on poetry and what does he do?" she paused dramatically swinging her arms a bit for effect, " He regales me with his newest devotion. And I am always obliged to listen as a daughter would," She gave herself a moment's silence as she poured the tea and John ladled soup into the bowls. His expressions grew more gay by her seeming exasperation. She huffed into her seat her skirts plumping up around her with the motion as she continued, " Now it's this series in the 'Strand Magazine' called 'Sherlock Holmes.' Apparently it has become very popular as of late." And the woman let herself lapse into silence as she took a spoonful of soup and blew on it, feeling the pangs of hunger start to gnaw at her once more.

"Have you read it yourself?" The man asked before following her direction looking vaguely curious.

"Not yet. Though Ernest is very insistent and keeps offering to lend me his copies of the publications," Ophelia rattled off so she could eat the now cooled spoonful. She tried to hold back her groan of pleasure for the sake of grace but John seemed to be watching with enough intent to hide nothing. She watched how he sat back so...unfluttered-like,elegantly taking sips while she felt like a child. she huffed a bit in mock jealousy that perhaps had some truth to it. She often felt ever since she had left her home, all the childhood training of her youth, finally unrestrained and in moments of comfort was melting away as the snow outside did. And when it was gone though the reality may not be as pristine it was the truth of things. Part of her reveled in showing this silliness especially to John. Perhaps he might be able to follow her in this way. She was already seeing some cracks in the ice of the exterior he had built over the long winter but she would dare to one day break it and dive into the water beneath.

As she thought and ate watching her friend he at first shifted under her gaze but eventually seemed to match her delving into his own thoughts as well. Finally he asked,

"Do you know what type of story, this Sherlock holmes is?" That was enough to snap the woman back to the moment and she noticed she had already eaten half her bowl and hadn't touched the tea. She took her two lumps of sugar and put them in her cup before answering,

"It is all mysteries lead by the namesake who is a detective. That is all I dare to remember through Ernest's adorations of it," She paused looking over at John's nearly empty cup, "Would you like to try milk this time? You might find it more to your liking." John's face scrunched up a bit still slightly overwhelmed by the sugar experience earlier, no doubt but took a deep breath before answering.

"I shall, and I pray I shall like it or else I will ever be resigned to my more accustomed taste as plain as it may be." He spoke delicately and the woman felt a surge of adoration in his willingness.

"It would truly be a travesty if you do not for you are hardly a plain gentleman," she said as she poured some milk into his cup, just a tidbit, and stirred it, " Do you have interest in mysteries? I myself am not particularly fond of them I suppose. Call me a typical woman but the romances have always captured something within me." She looked up to see the man's head tilted in amused confusion.

"I would never have thought to hear gentleman pass any human's lips in reference to my being. Yet to even be a plain gentleman becometh the greatest honor indeed, my lady," he said with a moment of dramatic flair after recovering himself and showing a much happier demeanor. He took a few more moments to think of her question as he sipped the tea. She was much relieved to see his face not twisting into a grimace, though minorly perplexed at first. By the second sip, his expression grew contented he nodded to her of the shown success.

"Truly a gentleman of good taste then. You have the honor of kings by surpassing your previous state I would think now. Shall I wreath your head in leaves of tea to show such a mighty distinction for surely it is better then then a wreath of olive leaves," Ophelia said in an offering tone of a subservient dramatis persona even bowing her head slightly. The man lifted a hand and made a kingly dismissal, even lifting himself straighter in the chair,

"There shall be no such need .The title is worthy enough." And with that he left the play behind,

"I also suppose I might have interest in mysteries. There have been hints of them in works I read before. And it might be a boon in the meeting of your Mr.Jenkins to keep interest in such things. I’m afraid I have forgotten if you told me once before, but which of the romances do you enjoy?"

" I very much enjoy such things as 'Pride and Prejudice', 'Wuthering Heights', and 'Phantom of the Opera.' I have the volumes if you have not read them and have interest though I shall not chide you ."

"If you would oblige me, since you do now have a majority of my collection to read, it would be a fair trade as it were. I would be glad to read them." The woman clapped her hands together in delight.

"Indeed I shall happily oblige you. You cannot know...well perhaps you can understand the joy in sharing such interests. Besides Ernest, I know it is meant not to be a passion of my sex and so few men would indulge me so. Yet, for my part such men who would spurn such interests are no gentlemen but are in want of mindless servants to their will." The woman rambled in a pant of distaste just thinking about such people once more. She kicked herself for ruining the mood, especially for herself but it was naught but a truth. She looked up making sure John met her eye,

"So, even for that sake, no matter what storms you claim have reigned in your soul, you have always been the upstanding Mr. Clare to me, high above other petty animals parading as men." She watched as the man's eyes grew dark with hateful memory,

"I pray you never see me as anything else, thus I shall always be the most gentle with you, my dear," he said resolutely and taking a loving turn in his ending promise. His words seared her with need to respond.

"And I to you." For a moment longer they held each other's gaze as Ophelia thought about how he had called her 'my dear' which melted all the anger in her bosom. He seemed at peace with his own words and went back to eating, regaining his shyness in a second. She followed his lead for a bit till they finished and the man let himself break the silence this time,

“ I do admit to having envy for Aron`s talent in cooking. I must say I think I would gladly trade a portion of my poetic knowledge for the ability to eat so well each day.” Lia quickly retaliated,

“ And I would have you trade none of it and simply have him instruct you. You should never need trade any part of yourself away for another,” she said in a serious note before brightening up, “ but I promise he would delight in having an apprentice who not not ruin his work.”

“You speak so unkindly of yourself, yet you ask me to not speak such things,” the man chided her his golden eyes narrowing slightly. But it hardly fazed the woman who merely waved him off,

“I only speak facts, that I promise. For many years now I have worked to improve my ability and now under my brother’s tutorage I can at least cut and mix ingredients with...minor injury but as soon as it involves heat of any kind…” she paused sighing dramatically in play, standing up, "and I have mortified my brother with my failures to be sure; therefore I find it merciful to spare him most of the time." As she spoke she placed her fingers over her temple with a sigh. Even with the dramatics put in, it was the truth. She lowered her hand and placed it on the table, looking at her friend with a sighing grin.

"I'm sure in time you will fare better, as anyone can do with enough practice. If not, I can only promise to be a most avid learner. Though I have little to offer Aron in return," the man responded comfortingly seeing through her words all too easily. Ophelia felt herself in all seriousness both excited and amused at the thought of watching her brother teach John and more so for the better excuses for him to come live with them.

"We surely will ask Aron when he returns home then. You can give him your compliments then. If I were to tell him, he would think I was merely teasing him." The woman moved herself a bit further away from the table and leaned against the window frame acting as if in shock, and coughed a bit before dropping her voice and taking her conception of a masculine stance,

"Dearest Sister, it pains me that you would make such extravagant claims. It was hardly my best work!" and Ophelia finished by staggering over back into the chair trying her hardest not to crack a smile while John held back laughter, but just barely it seemed. Finally Lia let out a burst of laughter at her own foolish impression and thinking of the hilarious face her brother would make seeing such a thing. She certainly would have to show Aron later on, no doubt with him giving an equally wicked impression of her with John around.

She brought herself back to look at John who was smiling appraisingly all of the sudden at her, only having let out the smallest of laughs.

"Perhaps you missed your true calling as an actress," he spoke with laughter chocking his words as he took the stance of a critic. Lia leaned back in her chair amused, thinking herself no better than the mechanicals of 'Midsummer Night's Dream.'

“Oh, hardly. I may no more boast then Nick Bottom for acting ability,except in both our abilities to play the ass. Yet even there, he would surpass by actually becoming one. I doubt I have a Puck to transform me so,"

"Yet, I would see you try anyway. Would you happen to remember any of his lines?"

"Indeed. It is my second favorite of the comedies after all, after 'Much Ado about nothing'," The woman said giving herself a moment to recall her favored portions of the play. She had recently seen it with the Jenkins but a bit longer since she had read it. Thankfully some things managed to stick in her mind and she stood once more.

"So from where Peter Quince announces Bottom to be Pyramus then," she announced before changing her stance; a hand on her hip as she leaned slightly and cocked her head to the side whilst giving herself a boastful tone,

"That will ask some tears in the true performing of it. If I do it, let the audience look to their eyes," she paused raising a hand towards the ceiling with curved fingers, her voice growing louder, " I will move storms. " she changed her position to loosely hugging herself with both her arms, " I will condole in some measure." She relaxed once more into a lazy lean and lightly pounded her chest with her fist. “To the rest-yet my chief humor is for a tyrant. I could play Erecles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in,” The woman then made a gruesome face pounding her fist on the table next. “To make all split!”

She paused for a moment, amused she had even remembered this much and prepared herself for the last part, putting a foot up on the chair, using a booming voice,

“The raging rocks, and shivering rocks,
Shall break the locks, of prison gates;
And Phibbus`s car, shall shine from far,
And make and mar, the Foolish Fates.”

And ending the woman gingerly stepped down from the chair, John stood clapping loudly for her performance. She bowed deeply and then looked up to see him take an elegant stance, one arm tucked against the middle of his back as he used his other hand to guide his words,

“Which when I saw rehears’d, I must confess made mine eyes water; but more merry tears the passion of loud laughter never shed,” he said indeed holding back laughter as he took Philostrate’s part with ease. That was from...near the end of the play when the before the mechanicals had played ‘Pyramus and Thisbe’. Lia wondered what was it Quince had said. In a moment she drug it up from memory and gave another bow but deep and overly polite. She changed her voice to one that trembled as if before royalty as she spoke Quince’s lines,

“If we offend, it is with our good will, to show our simple skill.That’s the true beginning of the end.” The man politely clapped again breaking character. As himself he spoke now,

“I would have you try to play all the characters in turn for the mechanical’s play one day. For it surely would make a true comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe then.” The woman already felt exhausted by doing such small parts in the moment and felt dizzy just thinking of all the lines she would have to remember. She rebutted him,

“It would be a poor production for me alone. At least I could play pyramus and you my Thisbe since I would not have the energy to race around a wall. And then you may speak as small as you will.” She pulled the last line from Quince feeling accomplished. But John responded back promptly,

“Nay, faith; let not me play a woman; I have a beard coming,`” he said as Francis Flute even making the motion of stroking an imaginary beard. They both laughed and the woman gave in, knowing she had been bested in wits. But yet again, John had indeed lived in a theatre so he had the clear advantage here.

“Your skills in memorization, I shall openly envy till the end of time. I could never pull lines from a work with as much ease as you even if it were a favorite of mine,” she complimented him with false begrudgement looking back to her unfinished food. She took pains to quickly finish it before it became too cold, watching her friend blushing in silence as he mirrored her not knowing what to say once more. If anything he seemed to enjoy the moment of silence after their exertions.

The woman didn't mind either letting herself fall back into thought. She wondered what plays John might have seen in his time in the Grand Guignol beyond “The transformed beast”. She still remembered seeing the poster for it back in the cholera Ward and it had sparked many interesting conversations every now and then. John always seemed a natural talent in acting perhaps because he was always playing some part. It seemed such a shame he would never get to showcase that talent. Yet again, perhaps she wanted to keep it just among them...maybe Aron being able to watch. She often thought about when she had gone to the theater with Ernest and whether not her friend had been there, so close yet not. When she looked up she noted how the man seemed to have distracted himself into melancholy and she spoke to put a stop to it,

“ After we’ve cleaned up I'll take your measurements and perhaps you can give me your best 'Oberon’ for you would do his lines much justice. Perhaps I could even try out a few of Titania’s lines from the first act for a turn.” John, having finished eating already and seeing that Lia was now done, thoughtfully picked up what dishes he could and brought them to the wash basin. Once he got there he spoke, his voice shy and still distracted sounding,

“I think you would play a better puck with what I have learned this day,” Lia followed him with the rest of the dishes and soon was next to him as he continued, “ Though I would be too jealous of an Oberon to merely touch your eyes with Cupid`s love flower and have you fall for another.” The woman put the dishes in the basin and tried to look at her friend`s face for she couldn't tell how much in jest he spoke. His long locks made it hard to see and his tone remained muddy. He started washing this time and the woman stayed grabbing a nearby towel, prepared to dry.

“I suppose you are right about me being Titania, for I hardly think I could play any part with grace. Nor would I wish to fall for an ass anyway,” Ophelia spoke brightly as if to shine light on her friends demeanor. It seemed to work minorly as he glanced over to her with a hint of happiness returned.

“Perhaps you have... Yet I could not play Bottom with as much gusto as you to be sure. Perhaps I should play Titania then and you my transformed Bottom for it would, at the least, amuse your brother,” he said handing off the plates to Lia now. The woman laughed at the thought of it,

“He would faint of laughter, which would be a sight to see for sure.”

“Perhaps then I could write an ode to the comedies,” the man mused to himself. The woman continued her work saying,

“Oh please do! Maybe we could even each write on the theme and have Earnest judge which is better.” Lia spoke with enthusiasm but the man quickly retorted,

“I don’t think such creative works are best done in sport.” But the woman would not be dissuaded. She put the plate she was working on down and nudged her love`s arm with her own.

“That's only because you know I would win, eh?” John stopped as well looking down at her with an elegantly raised eyebrow and slowly smiled,

“Of course you would. It would be no contest.” Feeling a deep blush take over, completely disarmed by his statement Lia was only able to stutter out with a feeble laugh,

“I-I suppose I would…” And seeming pleased with himself John started on the pots. Unable to recover enough to speak the woman let silence reign until they finished with the dishes while the man looked over with a silent laugh every once in awhile.

Description
The two stayed on the ground holding each other after Ophelia spoke, seemingly both unable to comment further and let themselves enjoy the closeness. That is until the woman heard the growl of her stomach and they both yielded to lunch. The world came rushing back dizzyingly as they both shakily stood up, the sounds of the city buzzing beneath them, and the sun now shining fiercely enough to start to dissipate the remaining snow after so many had already turned it to mush on the streets. Ophelia enjoyed the touch of the winter sun on her back as well as the lingering warmth from John’s embrace, his scent now of burnt maple wood and weathered pages with her as well. They stood facing each other silently before walking over towards the small kitchen area where John motioned towards the pot of soup her brother had left for them and she nodded in response before going to make a fresh pot of tea. What could either of them have said after such a surprising turn of events?

Ophelia let herself focus on making another pot of tea, but could feel the tingling of the man’s scars from where her lips met them and her longing to meet his lips. She looked over briefly at him to see he had glanced back at her as well and she watched his darkened lips tilt into a shy smile before getting back to work on heating the soup up. She surely promised herself to meet his lips by the end of this night as well as cursing her stomach for interrupting them. They both got to the point where all they could do was wait and the woman found it within herself to break the peaceful silence.

“You know, The Jenkins have been great friends to those in Goodsheaven for many years. Ernest has known Sister Bridget, who now runs the library there, for over twenty years at least. He supplies them with the newest publications as often as he can. That’s how I came to know of him, working with her. She pens letters to him at least once a month as a fond friend and literary fiend. “ Ophelia leaned back against the small counter as her friend stood within an arm’s reach listening to her with rapt attention.

“I wouldn’t imagine such a place having many books beyond your bible,” he said as his face twisted into curiosity and slight disbelief. The woman looked back in slight shock at such an assumption,

“Oh, that is simply not true. People of the faith have been literate for centuries, even though the darkest of times. Many of the Fathers and Sisters I know are far better read than I will ever be and dare I say, hunger more heavily for works of the world than I. You might even find a few with your level of poetic appreciation.” The man nodded, grateful to the idea and silently thanked Lia for the slight correction, even a bit embarrassed.

“As long as they would not have the intention to convert me, I would very much enjoy such company, though I doubt their mercy even commanded by your God would extend upon me with true kindness,” John said easily and with a smiling sigh. Lia felt her heart fall a bit for it seemed he did not see the sadness of his statement. She searched his eyes worriedly and his face turned to shame. She reached out her hand to grasp his arm about to speak but he quickly said,

“Excuse my usual self-flagellations. I know they torment you so but it is what I feel. I would dearly hope that it were not true and such people knew the kindness of their religions within themselves truly.” John looked down as Ophelia stroked his arm comfortingly, proud of his own correction.

“You would have to meet the sisters at least once at Goodsheaven. The sisters at the ward, I think, have grown as hard as the brick and darkness that surrounds them and therefore are hardly an example of a more studious person of faith. Their work is most wonderful and needed though, God bless them. The women I worked with for those years were as gentle as lambs unless mischief was about. ” John’s hand laid over hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as he brought her hand to his chest almost unconsciously and she felt his heartbeat once more and she felt herself grow quiet as she wished for her head to rest where her hand lie.

“Miss Ives once told me her experience in the faith was none too gentle to her, and made mention of nuns giving her cause for worry. I assumed such personage were the cause of her religion’s arduousness nature for her.” Lia felt her thoughts grow slightly fuzzy as now the man’s fingers slowly drifted over the back of her hand in thought and she drew herself slightly closer to him. She felt honored that he was able to at least speak to her more freely of Miss Ives even if his family were to remain a secret for now. She vaguely remembered hearing snippets of that conversation when she had spied upon the two friends’ months before as well. She felt painfully sorry for the woman’s mistreatment whatever it was and more so now than before, wished she could speak to the Miss Ives herself. But she wondered,

“Perhaps she brought mischief to nuns she had met before. I myself may have done such small acts of disagreeable behavior to get a stern eye in past years,” she admitted impishly, wondering if such a gentle woman could have been a bit of a rascal in her youth as much as Lia herself may have been on occasion.The man grinned at her wicked admission asking,

"Surely I would have thought you a guiltless cherub among the lord's flock." His voice conveyed his disbelief and went to show how well the woman had learned to rein herself and her secrets in over the years. Yet again, John must have viewed her as the goddess of mercy from once they had begun speaking . She took an almost childish delight sometimes in relenting her more human nature to him always to see the man only grow yet more fond of her. But he kept himself clasped tightly shut all this time. He would speak endlessly to her of philosophy, society, of course poetry but had always steered gently around the topic of himself. So, she learned to let the conversations be about her as unbalanced as they were. One day soon she planned to tip the scales back into balance. She kept her contented expression even as she plotted.

"Mr. Clare!,” she started jokingly, “ You said yourself I was an angel once, and so...for the most part..I was. Unless I was a mouse hungry for a bit of cheese. Sister Margaret was in charge of the kitchen and though stern, took me in when I snuck away from chores. I always felt like I was about to be caught in a mouse trap under her gaze, but she somehow always let me get away with a little nibble on whatever she was working on. She even taught me how to bake, though that is about all I can do. If it involves an oven I have hefty chance of the food surviving."

"What a useful set of skills then, Miss Broderick," he said in joking admonishment, taking on the tone of an elder, which in truth he was. He might of been five to ten years older than her, she guessed from how he looked. Not that she minded. The men of her age besides Aron, most of the time were always naive, prancing, little fools expecting her to swoon at every dripping cliche they spoke. And that was from what little she had experienced of them. None of them could match John's natural ease of intelligence or his serious aura which she preferred. Years of living with Carmelite nuns gives one such a preference. She had learned to appreciate the silence and solitude of the life in the convent and even more so the people that could enjoy such things outside of it. She remembered Mother Franciose, the abbess speaking to them of how only in solitude and silence could one not only commune with the lord better but with themselves.

'One is only distracted from learning about oneself with talking to others and therefore those that prattle to others all day stay as naive as a babe,' she had instructed when Lia had arrived as their ward initially. She never did fully quit herself of the habit of speaking over-much, to Mother Francoise's disappointment but she set herself to being a divine example in other ways and slowly earned all the Sisters' love which she had been so far from her at home. she still viewed the sisters more as family in many ways for the love they shared.

The woman quickly brought herself back from getting too lost in her own thoughts and looked down in a feigned shame to his feigned sternness.

"Such things have served me well. It seems you have perhaps a similar set of tools which you may pull from as needed. Perhaps not baking, but hiding as you have said. Building is a wonderful talent that indeed as well and I wish to see your work one day. Perhaps Vincent would take you back on." she started trying her usual gentle lean towards him, hoping he would have been eased into answering after her rambles this morning. She watched his face turn from that of the elder to a scolded child as she mentioned Vincent. He had done something wrong there at the theatre. That was what his expression told her. Something bad enough that he left the company of whom he considered a good friend. She had watched him shift with minor discomfort every time the old theatre manager had been mentioned. She longed to know what could have been so terrible, but as it was she would have to continue to glean such things from his reactions. The dance of her peering within him would continue with such gentle swaying of conversation. She wondered if she could convince him to dance with her as she had once seen him and Miss Ives did.

She wasn't necessarily fond of the stiff dancing at balls but the thought of being held in a the arms of an intimate friend as they slowly twirled about made her internally swoon. She felt like a silly lovesick child at her own reaction but yet adored the sensation of it all. For today all the blooms of relationship she had planted and tended to with her friend had finally bloomed this day. It was the pagan festival of their love: she longed to dance around the maypole and make flower wreaths for her and John to wear. He would, gently try to convince her he did not dance and could not wear such a ring of flowers but she would win in the end.

Her vision was broken by the sound of the teapot singing and the boil of the soup. She set to work on bringing two thin wood blocks to the table for the two pots and the man quietly followed her lead. She would have to tip the scales of conversation once more.

"But no worries about that. I'm sure old Ernest will keep you plenty busy and if Aron has his way, you'd be chained to the kitchen whenever he cooks if you have the ability to help. You know, Ernest was the one who offered me this chance here in London to work alongside the active orders. Sister Bridgette admitted they spoke of me in their exchanges. Once he learned I was not a novice there and merely a ward he was very firm in his offer of bringing me into 'good company in society' and treating me as if I were his own daughter. Sister Bridgette must have spoken well enough for me, though she always had kept her letters to herself," the woman went on for a bit lightly as the two brought the pots over before going back for bowls, cups, and silverware. The man seemed at least a pinch more amused and found his voice again,

"Do you see him as a father then, at least here in London?"

"Naturally. What I would have given to have grown up climbing bookshelves and learning to run a shop with such a kindly person.But alas all I can do is give him the affection and attention of a daughter. I usually visit him for supper twice a week since Aron is usually working late with friends as is it. There is always a good bit of conversation to savor or a fun bit of discourse to have. And of course talk of the newest publications," Ophelia spoke as she went to the main door leaving John by the table to check if the milk had been left for Aron's tea by Mrs. Jenkins. Indeed it had been, and Lord she had a quiet step for the woman had not been heard dropping it off. As she closed the door again the man seemed more at ease.

"Then I suppose it would be an honor to meet your chosen father. Though I fear my skills in the art of polite discourse and my lack of knowledge in current works are sorely lacking." The woman brought the milk to the table barely containing a laugh,

"Oh Ho, that won't stop him from utterly imploring you to read some the popular publications. I swear to the heavens above, his obsessions know no bounds. I keep trying to tell him I wish to focus on poetry and what does he do?" she paused dramatically swinging her arms a bit for effect, " He regales me with his newest devotion. And I am always obliged to listen as a daughter would," She gave herself a moment's silence as she poured the tea and John ladled soup into the bowls. His expressions grew more gay by her seeming exasperation. She huffed into her seat her skirts plumping up around her with the motion as she continued, " Now it's this series in the 'Strand Magazine' called 'Sherlock Holmes.' Apparently it has become very popular as of late." And the woman let herself lapse into silence as she took a spoonful of soup and blew on it, feeling the pangs of hunger start to gnaw at her once more.

"Have you read it yourself?" The man asked before following her direction looking vaguely curious.

"Not yet. Though Ernest is very insistent and keeps offering to lend me his copies of the publications," Ophelia rattled off so she could eat the now cooled spoonful. She tried to hold back her groan of pleasure for the sake of grace but John seemed to be watching with enough intent to hide nothing. She watched how he sat back so...unfluttered-like,elegantly taking sips while she felt like a child. she huffed a bit in mock jealousy that perhaps had some truth to it. She often felt ever since she had left her home, all the childhood training of her youth, finally unrestrained and in moments of comfort was melting away as the snow outside did. And when it was gone though the reality may not be as pristine it was the truth of things. Part of her reveled in showing this silliness especially to John. Perhaps he might be able to follow her in this way. She was already seeing some cracks in the ice of the exterior he had built over the long winter but she would dare to one day break it and dive into the water beneath.

As she thought and ate watching her friend he at first shifted under her gaze but eventually seemed to match her delving into his own thoughts as well. Finally he asked,

"Do you know what type of story, this Sherlock holmes is?" That was enough to snap the woman back to the moment and she noticed she had already eaten half her bowl and hadn't touched the tea. She took her two lumps of sugar and put them in her cup before answering,

"It is all mysteries lead by the namesake who is a detective. That is all I dare to remember through Ernest's adorations of it," She paused looking over at John's nearly empty cup, "Would you like to try milk this time? You might find it more to your liking." John's face scrunched up a bit still slightly overwhelmed by the sugar experience earlier, no doubt but took a deep breath before answering.

"I shall, and I pray I shall like it or else I will ever be resigned to my more accustomed taste as plain as it may be." He spoke delicately and the woman felt a surge of adoration in his willingness.

"It would truly be a travesty if you do not for you are hardly a plain gentleman," she said as she poured some milk into his cup, just a tidbit, and stirred it, " Do you have interest in mysteries? I myself am not particularly fond of them I suppose. Call me a typical woman but the romances have always captured something within me." She looked up to see the man's head tilted in amused confusion.

"I would never have thought to hear gentleman pass any human's lips in reference to my being. Yet to even be a plain gentleman becometh the greatest honor indeed, my lady," he said with a moment of dramatic flair after recovering himself and showing a much happier demeanor. He took a few more moments to think of her question as he sipped the tea. She was much relieved to see his face not twisting into a grimace, though minorly perplexed at first. By the second sip, his expression grew contented he nodded to her of the shown success.

"Truly a gentleman of good taste then. You have the honor of kings by surpassing your previous state I would think now. Shall I wreath your head in leaves of tea to show such a mighty distinction for surely it is better then then a wreath of olive leaves," Ophelia said in an offering tone of a subservient dramatis persona even bowing her head slightly. The man lifted a hand and made a kingly dismissal, even lifting himself straighter in the chair,

"There shall be no such need .The title is worthy enough." And with that he left the play behind,

"I also suppose I might have interest in mysteries. There have been hints of them in works I read before. And it might be a boon in the meeting of your Mr.Jenkins to keep interest in such things. I’m afraid I have forgotten if you told me once before, but which of the romances do you enjoy?"

" I very much enjoy such things as 'Pride and Prejudice', 'Wuthering Heights', and 'Phantom of the Opera.' I have the volumes if you have not read them and have interest though I shall not chide you ."

"If you would oblige me, since you do now have a majority of my collection to read, it would be a fair trade as it were. I would be glad to read them." The woman clapped her hands together in delight.

"Indeed I shall happily oblige you. You cannot know...well perhaps you can understand the joy in sharing such interests. Besides Ernest, I know it is meant not to be a passion of my sex and so few men would indulge me so. Yet, for my part such men who would spurn such interests are no gentlemen but are in want of mindless servants to their will." The woman rambled in a pant of distaste just thinking about such people once more. She kicked herself for ruining the mood, especially for herself but it was naught but a truth. She looked up making sure John met her eye,

"So, even for that sake, no matter what storms you claim have reigned in your soul, you have always been the upstanding Mr. Clare to me, high above other petty animals parading as men." She watched as the man's eyes grew dark with hateful memory,

"I pray you never see me as anything else, thus I shall always be the most gentle with you, my dear," he said resolutely and taking a loving turn in his ending promise. His words seared her with need to respond.

"And I to you." For a moment longer they held each other's gaze as Ophelia thought about how he had called her 'my dear' which melted all the anger in her bosom. He seemed at peace with his own words and went back to eating, regaining his shyness in a second. She followed his lead for a bit till they finished and the man let himself break the silence this time,

“ I do admit to having envy for Aron`s talent in cooking. I must say I think I would gladly trade a portion of my poetic knowledge for the ability to eat so well each day.” Lia quickly retaliated,

“ And I would have you trade none of it and simply have him instruct you. You should never need trade any part of yourself away for another,” she said in a serious note before brightening up, “ but I promise he would delight in having an apprentice who not not ruin his work.”

“You speak so unkindly of yourself, yet you ask me to not speak such things,” the man chided her his golden eyes narrowing slightly. But it hardly fazed the woman who merely waved him off,

“I only speak facts, that I promise. For many years now I have worked to improve my ability and now under my brother’s tutorage I can at least cut and mix ingredients with...minor injury but as soon as it involves heat of any kind…” she paused sighing dramatically in play, standing up, "and I have mortified my brother with my failures to be sure; therefore I find it merciful to spare him most of the time." As she spoke she placed her fingers over her temple with a sigh. Even with the dramatics put in, it was the truth. She lowered her hand and placed it on the table, looking at her friend with a sighing grin.

"I'm sure in time you will fare better, as anyone can do with enough practice. If not, I can only promise to be a most avid learner. Though I have little to offer Aron in return," the man responded comfortingly seeing through her words all too easily. Ophelia felt herself in all seriousness both excited and amused at the thought of watching her brother teach John and more so for the better excuses for him to come live with them.

"We surely will ask Aron when he returns home then. You can give him your compliments then. If I were to tell him, he would think I was merely teasing him." The woman moved herself a bit further away from the table and leaned against the window frame acting as if in shock, and coughed a bit before dropping her voice and taking her conception of a masculine stance,

"Dearest Sister, it pains me that you would make such extravagant claims. It was hardly my best work!" and Ophelia finished by staggering over back into the chair trying her hardest not to crack a smile while John held back laughter, but just barely it seemed. Finally Lia let out a burst of laughter at her own foolish impression and thinking of the hilarious face her brother would make seeing such a thing. She certainly would have to show Aron later on, no doubt with him giving an equally wicked impression of her with John around.

She brought herself back to look at John who was smiling appraisingly all of the sudden at her, only having let out the smallest of laughs.

"Perhaps you missed your true calling as an actress," he spoke with laughter chocking his words as he took the stance of a critic. Lia leaned back in her chair amused, thinking herself no better than the mechanicals of 'Midsummer Night's Dream.'

“Oh, hardly. I may no more boast then Nick Bottom for acting ability,except in both our abilities to play the ass. Yet even there, he would surpass by actually becoming one. I doubt I have a Puck to transform me so,"

"Yet, I would see you try anyway. Would you happen to remember any of his lines?"

"Indeed. It is my second favorite of the comedies after all, after 'Much Ado about nothing'," The woman said giving herself a moment to recall her favored portions of the play. She had recently seen it with the Jenkins but a bit longer since she had read it. Thankfully some things managed to stick in her mind and she stood once more.

"So from where Peter Quince announces Bottom to be Pyramus then," she announced before changing her stance; a hand on her hip as she leaned slightly and cocked her head to the side whilst giving herself a boastful tone,

"That will ask some tears in the true performing of it. If I do it, let the audience look to their eyes," she paused raising a hand towards the ceiling with curved fingers, her voice growing louder, " I will move storms. " she changed her position to loosely hugging herself with both her arms, " I will condole in some measure." She relaxed once more into a lazy lean and lightly pounded her chest with her fist. “To the rest-yet my chief humor is for a tyrant. I could play Erecles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in,” The woman then made a gruesome face pounding her fist on the table next. “To make all split!”

She paused for a moment, amused she had even remembered this much and prepared herself for the last part, putting a foot up on the chair, using a booming voice,

“The raging rocks, and shivering rocks,
Shall break the locks, of prison gates;
And Phibbus`s car, shall shine from far,
And make and mar, the Foolish Fates.”

And ending the woman gingerly stepped down from the chair, John stood clapping loudly for her performance. She bowed deeply and then looked up to see him take an elegant stance, one arm tucked against the middle of his back as he used his other hand to guide his words,

“Which when I saw rehears’d, I must confess made mine eyes water; but more merry tears the passion of loud laughter never shed,” he said indeed holding back laughter as he took Philostrate’s part with ease. That was from...near the end of the play when the before the mechanicals had played ‘Pyramus and Thisbe’. Lia wondered what was it Quince had said. In a moment she drug it up from memory and gave another bow but deep and overly polite. She changed her voice to one that trembled as if before royalty as she spoke Quince’s lines,

“If we offend, it is with our good will, to show our simple skill.That’s the true beginning of the end.” The man politely clapped again breaking character. As himself he spoke now,

“I would have you try to play all the characters in turn for the mechanical’s play one day. For it surely would make a true comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe then.” The woman already felt exhausted by doing such small parts in the moment and felt dizzy just thinking of all the lines she would have to remember. She rebutted him,

“It would be a poor production for me alone. At least I could play pyramus and you my Thisbe since I would not have the energy to race around a wall. And then you may speak as small as you will.” She pulled the last line from Quince feeling accomplished. But John responded back promptly,

“Nay, faith; let not me play a woman; I have a beard coming,`” he said as Francis Flute even making the motion of stroking an imaginary beard. They both laughed and the woman gave in, knowing she had been bested in wits. But yet again, John had indeed lived in a theatre so he had the clear advantage here.

“Your skills in memorization, I shall openly envy till the end of time. I could never pull lines from a work with as much ease as you even if it were a favorite of mine,” she complimented him with false begrudgement looking back to her unfinished food. She took pains to quickly finish it before it became too cold, watching her friend blushing in silence as he mirrored her not knowing what to say once more. If anything he seemed to enjoy the moment of silence after their exertions.

The woman didn't mind either letting herself fall back into thought. She wondered what plays John might have seen in his time in the Grand Guignol beyond “The transformed beast”. She still remembered seeing the poster for it back in the cholera Ward and it had sparked many interesting conversations every now and then. John always seemed a natural talent in acting perhaps because he was always playing some part. It seemed such a shame he would never get to showcase that talent. Yet again, perhaps she wanted to keep it just among them...maybe Aron being able to watch. She often thought about when she had gone to the theater with Ernest and whether not her friend had been there, so close yet not. When she looked up she noted how the man seemed to have distracted himself into melancholy and she spoke to put a stop to it,

“ After we’ve cleaned up I'll take your measurements and perhaps you can give me your best 'Oberon’ for you would do his lines much justice. Perhaps I could even try out a few of Titania’s lines from the first act for a turn.” John, having finished eating already and seeing that Lia was now done, thoughtfully picked up what dishes he could and brought them to the wash basin. Once he got there he spoke, his voice shy and still distracted sounding,

“I think you would play a better puck with what I have learned this day,” Lia followed him with the rest of the dishes and soon was next to him as he continued, “ Though I would be too jealous of an Oberon to merely touch your eyes with Cupid`s love flower and have you fall for another.” The woman put the dishes in the basin and tried to look at her friend`s face for she couldn't tell how much in jest he spoke. His long locks made it hard to see and his tone remained muddy. He started washing this time and the woman stayed grabbing a nearby towel, prepared to dry.

“I suppose you are right about me being Titania, for I hardly think I could play any part with grace. Nor would I wish to fall for an ass anyway,” Ophelia spoke brightly as if to shine light on her friends demeanor. It seemed to work minorly as he glanced over to her with a hint of happiness returned.

“Perhaps you have... Yet I could not play Bottom with as much gusto as you to be sure. Perhaps I should play Titania then and you my transformed Bottom for it would, at the least, amuse your brother,” he said handing off the plates to Lia now. The woman laughed at the thought of it,

“He would faint of laughter, which would be a sight to see for sure.”

“Perhaps then I could write an ode to the comedies,” the man mused to himself. The woman continued her work saying,

“Oh please do! Maybe we could even each write on the theme and have Earnest judge which is better.” Lia spoke with enthusiasm but the man quickly retorted,

“I don’t think such creative works are best done in sport.” But the woman would not be dissuaded. She put the plate she was working on down and nudged her love`s arm with her own.

“That's only because you know I would win, eh?” John stopped as well looking down at her with an elegantly raised eyebrow and slowly smiled,

“Of course you would. It would be no contest.” Feeling a deep blush take over, completely disarmed by his statement Lia was only able to stutter out with a feeble laugh,

“I-I suppose I would…” And seeming pleased with himself John started on the pots. Unable to recover enough to speak the woman let silence reign until they finished with the dishes while the man looked over with a silent laugh every once in awhile.