her son’s
ear before he met with any government official, or hurry him past a
Guard House as if they were common criminals, that had taught the
young Pembrake his mother lacked courage.
So this was a
worrying reversal in her behaviour. Now he bothered to look, her
expression verged on the serene, and she sat with a straighter,
stronger back, a different woman from the one who had timidly
ushered him in less than half-an-hour before.
She sipped at
her tea again and a waft of basil scent drifted over to him.
Pembrake
shifted his eyes back to the glass patio doors rather than look at
this calmer version of his mother. They were unusually clear.
Sparkling even. 'The window cleaner has done a good job,' he tried
to say casually, 'I can see why you invite her in for tea.'
'Oh yes, she's
been coming around for a very long time now, dear; surprising you
haven't noticed. And recently she's been making me such
a wonderful tea. I'm all the better for it, I'm sure.
But-' his mother tried for a deep breath, but gave up with a sharp,
shallow suck of air, 'I haven't congratulated you on whatever it is
you need to be congratulated on yet. Is it another promotion? I
know you aren't getting engaged….'
This was all
too much. She was just so calm! He'd been so sure she'd thought he
was engaged. He stupidly took another sip at his scalding tea
before replying awkwardly, 'Ah… well actually I do have news.'
She crossed
her arms, not necessarily defensive, but not about to be played
either it seemed.
'I have
accepted a position at the Royal Naval Academy in Capitol City.'
Now he'd said it.
His mother
blinked. She didn't burst into tears, beg him to stay or forbid him
to go, just blinked.
'It means,'
Pembrake stumbled over his words in the light of his surprise,
'that I won't come back to Bridgestock.'
His mother
nodded and began to play with her bracelet. It was thick with large
stone-carved beads. It was a family heirloom of sorts, though his
mother had never told him where it had come from. She hardly ever
let it out of her sight and always seemed to play with it in times
of stress. She said it was her lucky charm, not that she had ever
been that lucky. But she still claimed that one day this bracelet
would bring them the greatest windfall of all, whatever that
meant.
But now, as
his mother played with the beads, her fingers brushing lightly
along their carved faces, her eyes seemed to grow distant as if
behind a layer of mist. 'You don't intend to return, do you?'
'No,' he said
suddenly, surprised at her blank, dispassionate question. 'I
don't.'
'I see.'
Bridgestock,
Westlands, the day of the Storm of the Century…
Pembrake
nodded at the guards as they walked past on their patrol, then
bounded easily up the last set of tessellated steps that separated
him from his mother's street. He had to do this today
and early today by the look of those clouds circling
overhead. Plus, he had promised the Captain he would check on the
men in Marvern's tavern, to ensure they were keeping in good order
and not bringing the good name of the Royal Navy into
disrepute.
That being
said…he paused to eye an attractive young lady dressed in a purple
dress with white frills. In a move that was by now very familiar to
him, she lowered her eyes to look at him coquettishly from under
her lashes, smiling coyly.
He tipped his
hat and walked on. It was true; ladies love a man in
uniform. Especially one who lives on Esquire street. Colour of his
skin be dammed, Pembrake knew he was good looking, even to the
ladies of Bridgestock.
Smiling to
himself, Pembrake scanned the rest of the street. There was another
woman dressed in a drab patchwork skirt exiting one of the houses
further down the street. Even from a distance it was clear she
wasn't a patch on the purple-dress girl looks-wise and, as she
neared him, he spotted the broom and bucket and realised she was
probably not a patch on the purple-dress girl class-wise
either.
However, he
knew his
ear before he met with any government official, or hurry him past a
Guard House as if they were common criminals, that had taught the
young Pembrake his mother lacked courage.
So this was a
worrying reversal in her behaviour. Now he bothered to look, her
expression verged on the serene, and she sat with a straighter,
stronger back, a different woman from the one who had timidly
ushered him in less than half-an-hour before.
She sipped at
her tea again and a waft of basil scent drifted over to him.
Pembrake
shifted his eyes back to the glass patio doors rather than look at
this calmer version of his mother. They were unusually clear.
Sparkling even. 'The window cleaner has done a good job,' he tried
to say casually, 'I can see why you invite her in for tea.'
'Oh yes, she's
been coming around for a very long time now, dear; surprising you
haven't noticed. And recently she's been making me such
a wonderful tea. I'm all the better for it, I'm sure.
But-' his mother tried for a deep breath, but gave up with a sharp,
shallow suck of air, 'I haven't congratulated you on whatever it is
you need to be congratulated on yet. Is it another promotion? I
know you aren't getting engaged….'
This was all
too much. She was just so calm! He'd been so sure she'd thought he
was engaged. He stupidly took another sip at his scalding tea
before replying awkwardly, 'Ah… well actually I do have news.'
She crossed
her arms, not necessarily defensive, but not about to be played
either it seemed.
'I have
accepted a position at the Royal Naval Academy in Capitol City.'
Now he'd said it.
His mother
blinked. She didn't burst into tears, beg him to stay or forbid him
to go, just blinked.
'It means,'
Pembrake stumbled over his words in the light of his surprise,
'that I won't come back to Bridgestock.'
His mother
nodded and began to play with her bracelet. It was thick with large
stone-carved beads. It was a family heirloom of sorts, though his
mother had never told him where it had come from. She hardly ever
let it out of her sight and always seemed to play with it in times
of stress. She said it was her lucky charm, not that she had ever
been that lucky. But she still claimed that one day this bracelet
would bring them the greatest windfall of all, whatever that
meant.
But now, as
his mother played with the beads, her fingers brushing lightly
along their carved faces, her eyes seemed to grow distant as if
behind a layer of mist. 'You don't intend to return, do you?'
'No,' he said
suddenly, surprised at her blank, dispassionate question. 'I
don't.'
'I see.'
Bridgestock,
Westlands, the day of the Storm of the Century…
Pembrake
nodded at the guards as they walked past on their patrol, then
bounded easily up the last set of tessellated steps that separated
him from his mother's street. He had to do this today
and early today by the look of those clouds circling
overhead. Plus, he had promised the Captain he would check on the
men in Marvern's tavern, to ensure they were keeping in good order
and not bringing the good name of the Royal Navy into
disrepute.
That being
said…he paused to eye an attractive young lady dressed in a purple
dress with white frills. In a move that was by now very familiar to
him, she lowered her eyes to look at him coquettishly from under
her lashes, smiling coyly.
He tipped his
hat and walked on. It was true; ladies love a man in
uniform. Especially one who lives on Esquire street. Colour of his
skin be dammed, Pembrake knew he was good looking, even to the
ladies of Bridgestock.
Smiling to
himself, Pembrake scanned the rest of the street. There was another
woman dressed in a drab patchwork skirt exiting one of the houses
further down the street. Even from a distance it was clear she
wasn't a patch on the purple-dress girl looks-wise and, as she
neared him, he spotted the broom and bucket and realised she was
probably not a patch on the purple-dress girl class-wise
either.
However, he
knew his
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