A Time and Place for Us

How the Tables Turn

Thank you for reading xxxx

Nellie's heart was hammering in her chest as she walked along the wood-panelled corridors leading to the ship's tonstorial parlour, Hieronymus Russell trailing close behind. What on earth was she thinking? the former baker couldn't help but wonder for the umpteenth time. After her guilt-ridden slip-up the last time she went to his cabin to search for the missing gun—with its potentially fatal consequences she avoided just narrowly—she'd taken the determination to avoid Sweeney for the rest of the trip, to simply pretend he stayed in England with all her many regrets. Yet now she was purposely on the way to him, in order to ask him to commit murder.

She shouldn't have said that, she shouldn't have even thought of asking Sweeney to do that. For one, murdering the Duke of Bedford would only dig a deeper grave for themselves, and in the current climate of rampant crime around the ship that had everyone's nerves on edge, murder in itself was an ill-advised idea. At the same time, even if murder proved to be the only option to get rid of this lustful leech once and for all, committing the type of murder Sweeney was an expert in would be yet another stupid decision in her chain of stupid decisions she was making lately. What would they do with his bloodied body in the absence of a grinder and a big oven? Feed him to the sharks? Not to mention the awful blood stains she'd break her back trying to clean off the beige carpet.

But what else could she do? Immediately after the words slipped out of her mouth, she tried to back track, but that creep's flame of excitement was alight as soon as she mentioned her honeypot and there would be no talking him out of it. It didn't matter that she tried to clarify that it was not her honeypot what needed a shave but his rather prickly stubble, he raved about how much more scrumptious the taste of her would likely be without any hairs hindering its opening, citing something about some concubines in Siam he'd read about in a book a friend of his had lent him. The best she could convince him of, was that both should get a shave, but he still insisted she went first.

Hence, adding to her anguish about the murder, the prospect of embarrassment was colouring her cheeks scarlet. Because awkward would be an understatement to describe her next encounter with the demon barber. She would be entering his parlour as if nothing had ever happened between them, asking him to shave her privates accompanied by a man whom she was sure would not be very discreet about their relationship in the presence of what he surely considered a lowly barber. And all she could do was hope that Sweeney didn't blow up, that he was awake enough in the early morning to pick up her clues so he'd know what she really wanted him to do. And then of course, he had to agree.

Her plan was full of loopholes and uncertainties, to the point that she was considering just asking for the shave of her privates and not to murder the man, but that would solve nobody's problems and since she was already walking to the lion's den with her clueless prey... they may as well finish the job. And thus, all she could do was pray to both God and the Devil that everything worked out.

"Nellie!" Jonathan called her as he cut in, not caring that she was not alone. The haughty Duke merely gave that 'commoner' a dirty look as he busied himself by picking at his nails, visibly miffed. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

"What is the matter?" she replied, as calmly as she could, but the desperation in his voice could only mean a thing: bad news.

"It's Charles" he said and her heart dropped upon hearing the confirmation of her fears. What had he done now? "He wasn't barbering at all yesterday nor did he come out to eat and I get no response when I knock on his door. I'm worried about him."

Despite everything Sweeney had done to her, her anguish matched that of his friend. Her worst fears, those she'd purposely ignored because she thought he didn't deserve her worrying about him, had now taken a new dimension. Because when she left him two nights ago, she'd convinced herself that he wouldn't really care about her cruelty, that the wounds she inflicted with her cut-throat words would be akin to a papercut at the most. Because she was not Lucy, or the Judge, or Johanna so her opinion did not matter. It helped her assuage her guilt when she wondered if she'd taken it too far, if her words were too poisonous. He'll be fine, she'd told herself. Or at least, he'll be Sweeney's version of fine.