Chapter Text
The adventure had been fun and all, but Nell Jackson was glad it was done and dusted. They’d cleared her name, avenged their father, secured the family pub, and saved the blooming Queen of England from the sinister forces of evil. All in a day’s work, really, but Nell was eager to be off.
The others were all still inside playing fancy; sipping tea and nibbling cakes while they hobnobbed with royalty. It had been a relief to slip away from all that, trading looming chandeliers and pungent perfumes for the warmth of the sun and the comforting scent of horse dung. The cart was nothing compared to the extravagant coach that Moggerhanger had once lent them—just a few wooden planks cobbled together, really—but Nell was fine with that. The coach had been far too ostentatious for her liking.
“Be glad you don’t have to wear feathers on your head,” she told the black mare conversationally, brushing her fingers along its velveteen snout.
It gave a soft snort in reply.
“Nelly!” a familiar voice bellowed from behind.
Nell screwed up her face before turning around and forcing a smile. “Don’t call me Nelly,” she said. The response had become automatic, now. It wasn’t like she actually expected Charles to pay the correction any heed.
The smug young toff stood in front of her, beaming. He looked different to what she was used to. Not greasy and unkempt. Not dolled up like a powdered-up poodle. Today, he was somewhere in the middle. Clean and fresh-faced, his dark brown hair neatly tied back, his clothes expensive but tasteful.
It was different, but not necessarily bad.
Judging by the way his eyes were looking her up and down, it was clear he was thinking the same thing about her.
“That was quite the show you put on,” he said when his eyes had finally settled on hers. He was smiling that stupid smile of his. The one that was big and bright and annoyingly endearing.
“Yeah?” Nell sniffed. “Who said it was a show?”
“What was it you said?” Charles mused. He put on a silly voice. “I ain’t some cheap trick for toffs to gawp at.”
“I don’t sound like that,” Nell cut in.
“Brilliant!” he cried, as though he hadn’t heard her. “And when she asked you what you wanted? Have you heard of a pub— "
"Still don't sound like that."
"—She’s the blooming Queen of England, Nelly! I’m sure she’s heard of a pub before.”
“That wasn’t what I…” Nell tried again, then gave up with an exasperated eye roll. There was no point trying to reason with the man, not when he was all excited and dippy like this. She turned back to the horse, expecting to hear more drivel pour from Charles' bunghole, but for once he managed to stop talking. The silence felt unnatural and just a bit unnerving. With a huff of annoyance, Nell turned to face him.
“What?” she asked.
He didn’t answer straight away, merely stared at her, his dark eyes gleaming, his smile soft.
“What?” she said again. “Have I got something on my face?”
“No,” he said quietly, his voice oddly strained. “Look at you, Nell. Look at us. You a pub owner, me a knight of the realm”—Nell was still dubious of the title—“It should be the other way around, shouldn’t it?”
“You couldn’t pour a decent beer if your life depended on it,” she teased.
“True,” he agreed, with a small incline of his head. “But you…”
“I what?” she prompted after a few moments. She didn’t much like the expression on his face. He looked… soft. Like, in the head soft. To be fair, he always looked a bit daft, it was one of the things she liked about him, but this was something else.
He gave a chuckle and shook his head. “Nothing. You know, it’s unlikely our paths will cross again, not with you in Tottenham and me in Mayfair. You take the low road and I take the high road and all that.”
Nell raised an eyebrow.
“I know, I know,” he said, reading her expression. “Other way round. Sorry. But the point remains. We’re on different roads, Nell, going different ways.”
Nell shrugged a shoulder. “But that’s the thing about roads isn’t it?” she said. “They go in two directions. You can just turn around whenever you want and go back the other way.”
The smile reappeared. That strange gleam in his eyes. He glanced meaningfully at the cart. “In that case, maybe I could—”
“No,” she interrupted.
“You didn’t even know what I was going to ask!”
“Don’t need to,” she said. “It was going to be stupid whatever it was. What’s a knight of the realm supposed to be anyway?” she added, her face creasing with confusion.
Charles smirked and puffed out his chest. “It means I’m respected, now,” he said in that infuriatingly smug way of his. “Important and... and knightly.”
“You have no idea, do you?” Nell grinned up at him.
His smirk grew sheepish. “Not a clue.”
Nell moved across and leaned her back against the cart. She folded her arms across her thin chest. “What about that Tulley business, then? Can I expect to see that ugly mug pop up in the news sheets from time to time?”
Charles suddenly became serious. He shook his head. “No. Isambard Tulley is dead. I don’t think Her Majesty would be willing to offer a second pardon.”
“Probably not,” Nell agreed. "So what next? Gonna try keeping your head down and your nose clean for once?"
"Actually," he said with a sly smile, "I thought I'd try doing what you do."
"What, pouring beers?"
"Helping people."
Nell blinked at him, unsure of what to make of his new venture. "Good luck with that," she finally said.
He nodded his head. Glanced at the cart.
She uncrossed her arms. Put her hands in her pockets.
“Well,” she said, unsure of what else to say.
“Well,” he echoed.
An awkward silence fell between them.
“Well,” she said again.
“You’ll be off soon, I expect." He moved closer, joining her beside the cart. He reached up and gave the wooden panelling a small pat. “A shame, really. There’s no point denying our growing fondness for each other.”
Nell barely managed to bite back the retort on her tongue.
“There’s a French word, you know,” Charles continued. “Au Revoir. It means: Until we see each other again.”
“So just another way of saying goodbye, then,” Nell clarified.
Charles screwed up his face as though he’d tasted something sour. “No! No, no, no. Goodbye is so crude. Too final. No! Au Revoir is… It’s like a promise.”
“To see each other again?”
His face lit up. “Yes!” he cried. “Exactly!” He cleared his throat and held out his hand. Nell glanced down at it but made no move to take it. A moment later he lowered it.
“Au Revoir, Nell Jackson,” he said, his voice low and oddly formal. “Till we meet again.”
“Goodbye,” Nell said, without an ounce of formality. It was then that she was struck by the closeness of his proximity. The way he stood just a little bit taller than her. The way his eyes kept moving to her mouth.
He leaned forwards.
In an instant, Nell’s hand was pushed up against his face. “No. Not happening. Absolutely not.”
“I just… I just thought,” he spluttered, trying to swat her hand away.
She stepped back, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Yeah? Well, whatever you’re thinking you can stop that right now.”
He quickly composed himself, smoothing the folds of his coat. “My apologies. Force of habit.”
Nell shot him an incredulous look. “You often go about smushing faces with poor, unsuspecting coves?”
Charles gave a laugh. It sounded forced. “Nothing of the sort! Just a friendly custom amongst toffs. A French toff custom, if you will.”
“Yeah? Well, I ain’t no toff, and I ain’t no Frenchwoman.”
“That much is obvious,” he smirked. “The French are far more decorous. I was only going for the cheek, by the way,” he added, half-heartedly tapping a manicured finger against the side of his face. “Just…. the cheek.”
“Yeah, sure.”
The silence returned. Unnatural, deafening, unbearably awkward.
Nell cleared her throat. “Well… thanks.”
Charles tilted his head to the side, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “For what?”
“For…” she waved her arms about, flusteredly searching for the right words. They never came. “For everything,” she finished lamely. “Helping us. The thing with Poynton. You know.”
He gave a small bow. “It was my pleasure, Nelly Jackson.”
She scoffed at the faux formality. “Well… If you’re ever in Tottenham, drop into the Talbot for beer, ok?”
That stupid smile made its unwelcome appearance once more. “I’d love to.”
“Don’t expect it to come free, though,” she added.
His jaw dropped open in mock indignation. “Perish the thought!”
“And you can bring that Moggerhanger woman along if you want.”
Silence.
Charles glanced down at the ground as though he’d gained a sudden fascination with his shoes. “She, uh, she broke off the engagement. I don’t think she’d be particularly keen to…” His voice trailed off.
Awkwardness.
“Well,” she said.
"Well,” he echoed.
Nell glanced at the cart, then back to the foppish young man standing in front of her. It was nice to no longer be on the run. It was nice to have a home to go back to and a family to travel there with, but she couldn’t deny she was going to miss her adventures with Charles. She was going to miss his annoying voice and stupid face; the way they bickered and fought and traded insults.
As much as she was loathe to admit it, she was going to miss… him.
Without quite knowing what she was doing, she leaned forward and quickly brushed her lips against his cheek. He gave a small jolt.
“What?” she grunted, as he stared wide-eyed at her, his lip trembling. “It’s a toff thing, or so I’ve been told. Awe ray-vwah or whatever,” she added, as though it was an afterthought.
Charles blinked, his lips parting in a radiant smile. He looked as bright and rosy as a child on Christmas morning. “Au Revoir, Nelly Jackson,” he said. "Until we meet again."