“Yes,” she answers, fear leaping into her dark blue eyes. He takes notice of her features as she looks into his face momentarily. She seems to feel obligated to tell me a few items of interest about herself. Maybe there is an underlying problem here?
“I am Joanna Weasley,” she says, putting forward her gloved hand. He takes it graciously and bends his lips to kiss her fingers. She blushes intensely, and he notices.
“I have come into this region to gain suitable employment as a governess,” she explains, though Garty has not asked her business.
“Garty Musdo! I trust you have found success?” He asks her, smiling into her eyes.
“Not yet, Garty,” she explains. “However, my brother is negotiating matters with some of his acquaintances in this district,” she adds.
“I wish him success on your behalf,” he replies. Garty moves his hand to his sketch pad. He feels compelled to sketch all the folk he had met in Scatt but not had time to complete, whilst his memory is sharp.
“Good morning, Sir,” the deep voice echoes through the door.
“It’s my brother Jazzon,” she says softly. She quickly returns to her own table. Jazzon comes towards them with an angry countenance.
“I see you two have become acquainted?” Jazzon states, sitting down beside his sister.
“That is true,” Garty says. He rises and extends his hand to Jazzon. “Garty,” he says.
Jazzon does not reply or extend his hand in any sort of friendship. He stares down at Garty with a face of contempt.
“Joanna, this is outrageous!” He turns and addressed his sister gruffly.
“I am on the king’s business,” Garty interrupts Jazzon’s dialogue with his sister.
“I am enquiring of everyone I meet,” he adds, hoping to calm the situation a little.
“I see. Well, in that case, I will accept an apology. For my sister is a single woman and she needs complete protection from pretenders.”
“I do respect that and give you my apologies most profusely. May I buy you a drink, Sir?” Garty further extends his apologetic rhetoric.
“You may,” Jazzon replies. “Rum!”
Garty places the order as soon as he notices Madam Etty.
Jazzon seemed a little happier after having consumed the glass of rum so early in the day, Garty muses. It was worth it, he thinks.
Later in the day, Garty sets up a little patch for himself in the garden at the back of the establishment where small green cast iron tables and chairs are situated. He sits with his portfolio, a rather large pile of bits of paper, his sketch pad and his charcoal pencil. His mind remains active for a while as he recalls the information from the inn at Scatt! He pondered the jewels taken from the crib and makes a sketch of what it may have looked like. His portrait of Queen Bianca is becoming smudged, bringing with it in difficulties in matching confit sketches. He had begun a new sketch of the queen, using the damaged portrait.
“That’s a nice work of art,” a voice startles him in his reverie. He looks up to see Miss Weasley standing nearby. He stands up, dropping his pencil on the ground.
“Sorry, I did not mean to startle you,” she says , bending to pick up his tool before he can reach it. She hands it to him. “You are an artist?” she asks.
He feels heat sweeping over his face. “I am not an artist, not by trade, just sketching for information, profiler is more like my task here,” he adds. Her presence stirs this feeling of excitement that I cannot explain.
“I think it looks lovely. You definitely have a talent.” She pauses, thinking for a moment.
“Please sit down, join me,” says Garty. “Unless your brother objects?” he says.
“He has gone to see a gentleman friend in the district and shall be absent all day.” She looks away for a moment, contemplating her brother’s departure and mission. The hills are dotted with sheep around here and the growth is spasmodic. “This is a great little hideaway, I mean, safe haven!” she says. “Thank you. I shall take the pleasure of joining you for a little time,” she says, as Garty hurriedly lifts the heavy iron chair and places it for her to be seated.
“Thank you.”
She places her gloves on the table. He cannot help but notice her beautiful countenance. She is not the pretty type, rather more the dramatic, interesting type. Her eyes are almost sleepy in descriptive terms, and her bosom is ample. She is wearing a lighter outfit than she wore at evening meals, he notes. It is a shade of light blue, like a Springtime sky at noon.
“Would you like me to order a drink for you?” Garty asks, rising as he speaks. “I shall find Etty or Sack?”
“A cool drink please. It is warming here, summer is nigh,” she says smiling at him.
How daunting are her plump lips! They are kissable to infinity!
Of course, he dares not say anything so personal to someone of such beauty and grandeur.
“Certainly,” says Garty, rushing off to find Etty. Garty has worked out the floor plan already and knows where they cook meals and generally spend their days, in a little nook near the kitchen called a pantry!
He wants to ask Joanne questions before her brother returns, so feels a little rushed, even finding the proprietors seems stressful here. He almost bumps into Sack as he rushes through the little corridor near the kitchen. He is carrying two jugs and almost spills them all over Garty, but manages to steady his load in time.
“I was just looking for you,” Garty says. “Miss Joanne would like a cool drink,” he adds, staring at the jugs of cold lemonade.
“Ha! I must have listened to your conversations. Here are drinks, if ye don’t mind?” He gives Garty the two jugs of drink. Garty simply takes them gladly.
“We will need two drinking vessels as well,” he says to Sack, who is already humming a tune and heading towards the pantry or kitchen.
“Of course,” he replies in nonchalant fashion.
“Here you are, two full jugs of lemonade, freshly made, I believe. I smell lemons all over me,” Garty says humorously.
“You are a lemonade genius,” Joanne says, staring into Garty’s face.
She is funny!
Her hair glows like a halo of spun gold and he almost drops the enamel jugs promptly.
How my fingers might disappear into this golden halo!
As he places the jugs on the small wobbly table, Sack shuffles towards them holding two clear fragile glasses. He places them on the table.
“Will that be all?” He asks, moving away, expecting no more orders until lunchtime.
“What about something sweet?” Joanne asks. “I feel like something small and sweet,” she adds, smiling her adorable smile. Sack shrugs his shoulders and waves his hand. “I shall check with the good woman,” he says.
Garty pours the cool lemonade and they feel refreshed immediately even by its pungent aroma, delicious sweet-bitter taste and sparkles up their noses.
“It’s just right,” says Joanne.
Garty nods. He likes being with this woman. She makes me feel like a gentleman, and is a picture to gaze at, not that I should gaze for too long, he reminds his inner soul. He does not wish to cause her embarrassment.
“Now you can draw a picture of me,” she says, sitting back a little, staring into his face.
He is totally smitten. He takes the charcoal in his trembling fingers.
“Whatever the lady wants, the lady gets?” Garty’s glib reply is tinged with his joy. He is a trifle shocked at his own response. He has not been involved too much with ladies previously, living a bachelor’s life and enjoying the outdoors and horses, men and public places where lots of people had conversations with him. Even as he sketched her brows, he wonders if the men who stopped at the previous inn were on their way tracking him down. He tries not to think about them now. However, he also knows he must be always on guard against evil men or women who would stop at nothing to gain a few gold coins.
He looks at Joanne, who is very relaxed, showing off her succulent femininity to Garty. He has sketched her beautiful brow, golden hair, sleepy, deep blue eyes like a bright night, her white décolletage extending to her young bosoms tucked carefully into her figure hugging dress that seemed to amplify her curves and loveliness. His mind wandered a little as he struggled to draw her waist.
I would rather draw her to myself, he thinks rashly. I am sure that my hand spans would meet around her tiny waist. She is a delicate yet robust flower.
Before he is finished the sketch in charcoal pencil, he feels an eerie coldness washing over him. He looks up to see two horses and a sulky rolling down the narrow way toward the Etty Inn!
What a wonderful dream, he dreamed and now it is all spoiled by what he terms an intruder. He must awaken his own suspicious mind once again.
Garty says loudly, “Your brother returns!”
Joanne, is meanwhile slumbering in the ambience of fresh air, birds singing, the aroma of apple blossoms budding profusely, lemonade bubbles on her tongue and in her hair. She almost feels ecstatic at the thought of a beautiful, handsome and talented man drawing her profile.
She has never felt so exotic and sensual in her entire life of twenty years. She knows that this garment made the most of her figure, flattering her to be her wholesome and youthful best. She has even applied a little blush and white powder to her face this morning, just in case they met again.
“Brother,” she says, leaping up! “Get rid of the extra vessels, quickly,” she says this as if there might be a fierce fight in a moment over a drinking glass!
“I’m off to my room…” She quickly departs, then returns to collect her small sequinned purse. Garty works swiftly, closing his sketch pad, rushing to the kitchen with one jug and one glass and returns to sit alone, sketching a little brown bird sitting in the tree, picking up bugs. He detects Jazzon pulling up and being attended to by Sack. He relaxes and tries to enjoy a quiet moment alone. He did have a lot of catching up to do with his notes and information gleaned from his days of interviews. But, it now seems more difficult to concentrate after his encounter with the beautiful Joanne with the narrow waist and ample bosom. In some distant dream he had imagined someone like her in his life. Now that it has happened he had no idea what to do about anything. Here is her brother, guarding her like a bloodhound guards a fort. My chances of a pursuit of this beautiful lady are slim, he muses.
Jazzon walks past and Garty pretends not to see him, appearing to be absorbed in his notes and sketches.
“Been sketching my sister?” Jazzon asks.
Garty looks at him and is sure that he appears guilty. He tries to appear calm. Can I lie to this thug? I most certainly can, he thinks, and is about to do so, if Jazzon’s interrogation gets nasty.
“Jesting, my good Sir,” Jazzon laughs very heartily, like someone who had been drinking too much rum or wine. Spittle trails from his lips as he brushes his nose with the back of his hand. “You fell for it. Almost!” He says this in a jovial mode.