The Liar's Club
The Jerusalem was exactly the kind of place he'd imagined it. Lots of working-class types, a little rough around the edges, decent beer - the kind of place he shouldn't have felt out-of-place in. This was the kind of place he would have lied about going to with his mates from the factory every Friday after work, if alternate Izzy had wanted to get his mother to come down to London and knock some sense into him. There were very few times when he'd actually gotten to sit down and have a drink while not with a customer, which seemed a little strange for someone who hung around a hotel bar most nights.
But, unlike the hotel bar, this place didn't depress him. This was partly because he'd gone here of his own volition and a few shillings to spend on drinks, and partly because he'd had enough alcohol in his system so that everything was starting to become enjoyable. This place had been a good recommendation on Cullen(?)'s part.
Izzy knew that he was celebrating something, though all in all it seemed like a mixed blessing. He was celebrating managing to both get and lose his first client as a vampire hunter over the course of about an hour - not that he really wanted to see the bastard again. In retrospect, it was a good thing he'd blatantly overcharged. He'd probably never see that much money again until things got better. He was celebrating making a small, but not insignificant dent in his late father's mountainous debts.
Most of all, however, he felt like he was celebrating the fact that the coppers hadn't come after him yet. That was something worth celebrating, especially since he'd left himself so open to it. He'd handled the whole thing so terribly, looking back on it, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. So he raised his glass to no one in particular, and drank to - wossname's - clear capacity for idiocy.
Fox had washed up and changed shirts before heading over to the Jerusalem after work, and the smell of beer was familiar when she pushed open the door to step inside. She was alone tonight, having decided to arrive without any of the other lads she knew from work. Easier to get a seat that way, and besides, there was less chance of being overly noticed by the tavernmaids if she wasn't with a group of boisterous others.
She waded through the crow to get to the bar, bidding cheerful hellos to the folks she recognized. There had already been dinner, because drinking on an empty stomach was a bad idea, even someone as new to such things as herself knew that. Fox secured a seat at the bar, which had yet to become crowded, then ordered herself a pint.
"Mr..." There was a beat of silence when she recognized the face and then tried to put a name to it, and she snapped her fingers as it came to her. "Good evenin' to ye, Mr. Samuel, I see you found the place after all. Recovered from yer troubles, then?"
Usually, Izzy didn't have to remember what fake names he gave people. Most of them, if he met them again, didn't remember either. It was usually 'Izzy', 'boy', 'darling' under some circumstances, and 'Ganymede' for one man Izzy suspected was a literary type of some variety, which was probably why the reference flew right over his head. It was probably something Greek, it always was. In fact, it took a few seconds for him to remember that he was being spoken to and should turn around.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, smiling. Part of him had completely expected Cullen to be here, but he figured that he just wouldn't show up because that was what usually happened when you went on expecting someone to be in a certain location at a certain time. He gave Cullen a sheepish look and said, "Evening, Mr. Cullen. Sorry, didn't see you there at first."
Leaning on his elbow, he continued, "Yeah, everything's fine now - great, even. Things go up and down in the blink of an eye, eh?" He gave Cullen a sidelong glance, "Mostly down for me, but so long as it's good I guess I've nothing to do but to celebrate and whatnot. What brings you here, if I might ask?"
"Just seekin' a drink," she replied, and as if she'd conjured it from the air, her tankard appeared in front of her. She thanked the barmaid and settled more firmly on the padded seat she'd chosen. "Been a bit of a long day, I decided to unwind and relax before retiring."
She lifted her hands, showed her companion the backs of them. New scrapes today, a regular occurrence considering her trade. She'd had to seek out a place to find anti-septic so that the abrasions didn't become infected. It always stung, but that was better than the alternative. Still, she didn't mind the condition of her hands overly much. If anything, it helped her with the deceit she was perpetrating.
"You're lookin' better than when I saw ye last. Been keeping a sharper eye out for thieves, I'd expect."
"Obviously, I guess," said Izzy with a little laugh, "They don't serve much else here, it seems." And he certainly didn't mind as he took another swig from his tankard, "Best way to end the week, so naturally I don't think I've gotten a chance to since I got to London. Funny, that."
His eyes widened a little bit when Cullen showed him his hands. So that's how he'd look if he did all he wrote about. It didn't look especially pleasant, but on the other hand it looked on some level honest and at least ten times more respectable than what he had to show for a week's work. "Blimey. Tough day, then?"
Giving a small, dry laugh, he replied, "God yes." Even though that wouldn't have made much of a difference in the case he was talking about. It was one thing when you got mugged, it was entirely another to be convinced you were going to get paid before it happened.
"Got a large order of work," Fox explained, curling one hand around the tankard's handle. "Masonry's a right chore regardless, but the latest thing these folks want is some marble pillars for outside their house. Showpieces, like. Never saw so much dust." She shook her head with a rueful chuckle, self-consciously checking shirt she'd worn tonight for white grit. Habit, really, inspecting her clothes as if the stuff might follow her home.
"What's your trade, then? Haven't seen you around the workhouse the few times I've been there." As she'd noted earlier, he looked a bit soft, but you never could tell. "Where do you work?"
Izzy nodded, and realized that he'd probably seen those around without actually realizing that they'd come out of somewhere. More often than not he probably didn't see them at all, as he usually just kept his head down and tried not to stand out when he didn't need to. "Masonry, eh?" he said.
His next question was one Izzy had been expecting for a while. He expected it of every random stranger he met, and he had a lot of different answers to it, but all of them were equally vague. He got quiet for a split second, but his answer still seemed kind of offhand and casual. "Whatever I'm asked to, mainly." He quickly shifted gears and asked, "So how much does that earn you, masonry? Are you an apprentice or what?"
"I've been with Mr.Templeton for over a year. He agreed to teach me the trade after I proved myself to be a good worker. His last apprentice went to sea without much notice, and I heard he was looking for a replacement." It was the truth, even if she'd technically not been who the job had been meant for. Still, with a few outward adjustments on her part, she'd been able to convince the man to give her a chance. It remained a source of pride how well she'd acquitted herself.
"Its a tirin' job, no mistake, but the wages are fair and I was able to get lodgings on my employer's recommendation." Fox took another slow drink from her mug, savoring the taste of the beer. "Have ye family in the area, or are you on your own?"
That told him...exactly nothing, but right now he thought nothing of it. "Well, everything's up to chance, and as far as I can see that's a double-edged sword. Sometimes people go out to sea and you get a job, and sometimes..." he almost went into an anecdote he really didn't want to go into at this moment, "Bad things happen, right?" He seemed a little bit more interested when he mentioned wages, but then realized that he wasn't giving him any exact figures. "So I suspect there aren't any positions open?" he asked with a smirk.
"No, I'm from Essex," replied Izzy, "My mum and siblings are back there. I'm just here for as long as I need to be." He laughed, "I wouldn't stay here any longer if you paid me. Or it'd depend on how much, you know? What about you?"
Fox wasn't sure of what he meant, and she looked down into her drink as though that might give her the right answer. "You don't like the city?" she asked after a few moments. "London's a lot different than the country, to be sure, but I've found myself growing used to it. I suppose, though, if yer real close to your family it'd be natural to want to be nearer to them. I was fostered out when I was still a little'un, it might be different with a birth family."
She realized what that sounded like after a second, and her ears went red as she hurried to add, "I mean, no disrespect to Mrs. Cullen, o'course, she was as good a mum as I could've asked for, and I'd be at home now if it hadn't been for Mr. Cullen dyin'. But we all got to make our way in the world sometime, I think, otherwise we'd stay children forever."
That was a little better, and although the next question would lead to more embarrassment for her if it was pursued overly much it felt like the right thing to ask. "Have ye a...a female friend, someone to spend time with?"
"Used to - I suppose I'm as used to it as I can be. That doesn't mean I like it any. Too many people who can't see what's right under their noses, though I expect it's because if they get lied to as often as I do, they'd not believe the sky was blue if someone told 'em. Which it isn't here, have you ever noticed that?" He then blushed, drank a little more, and then said, "Sorry if I complain too much."
Nodding, he replied, "I'd rather make my way somewhere else, but what can you do? I need money right now, so I need a regular way of gettin' it quickly. Debts to be paid and all."
At Cullen's next question, he snorted involuntarily. It wasn't like he'd necessarily have a tough time getting a girl (or maybe he would, he hadn't stopped to ask), but there was the matter of convincing her to stay after she learned what he did. "No," he said flatly, and then shrugged. "All the better, I mean, I haven't got the time, anyway. What about you?"
"Uh..." She shouldn't have asked, and now her ears were even redder. "No. As ye say, no time, and I'm not...I'm not enough of a gentleman for a lot of the girls I meet." No gentleman, and indeed no man at all. "Client's daughters and such. They'd want a proper gent, someone without marble dust grimed into his clothes, and I'm not that man."
She finished off her pint as an excuse to keep her mouth from talking, then ordered a replacement. "Debts, y'say?" she asked once she felt more assured of not saying something else ridiculous. "You look too young to have taken to gamblin' or serious drink. I asked ye before about moneylenders, was I right without meanin' to be?"
Izzy grinned again and replied, "What? They're not into forbidden romance? No getting sweeped up into the arms of some working-class hero and running off into the sunset, leaving their mothers to faint and their father's to shake their fists uselessly? You certainly look the type to -" he stopped immediately and then quickly added, "Joking, joking."
Shaking his head, Izzy replied, "No, I don't have money to spend on that sort of thing. My rat-bastard of a father apparently did, though, God rest his soul."
She liked his smile, possibly more than was seemly, and she said, "Oh, get on with ye, Mr. Samuel. No lass with two farthings to rub together would take notice of me, nor would I expect them to." She thought briefly of Elspeth Fry and almost laughed out loud. That would be a scandal, all right, although perhaps not in the way Izzy thought it would be.
"If ye'd be lookin' for something to ease your burden, you might try church. I know that prayer helps me when I feel lost. Are you a man of faith?"
Though he'd have never said it aloud, he did think Cullen was nice-looking, if a bit effeminate, which was a bit weird for a stonemason or something like that, he thought, but well, appearances could be deceiving. A thought popped into his head, but he forced it down. "Don't take my word for it or anything, but I think you're terribly underestimating yourself," he said lightheartedly.
The thought began to sulk in the corner of his mind, and all the better. Wouldn't want to force that on anyone. He shook his head. "No, I'm lucky I don't spontaneously burst into flames when I get within a hundred feet of a church."
She was left staring at him, and if she hadn't known better she would have said that was a compliment. A compliment. From a man. Fox looked down at her abraded hands, the irony of it not escaping her. Her luck that she should be playing a form of dress-up while hearing such a thing. The young apprentice took a beat to compose her expression into something neutral, resisting the urge to kick her companion in the shins because he wouldn't understand it.
"I'm sure it isn't as bad as all that. God knows that all of us are sinners, and He beckons us into His house for that very reason. Did yer 'rat bastard' father turn you against religion?"
Izzy burst out laughing, trying to cover up the fact that, if only for a second, he'd thought Cullen had caught on to what had only been a particularly stupid whim on his part. Or that he'd taken it the wrong way and was going to keep taking it the wrong way. For the few times he'd spoken to him, he thought Cullen was a decent sort. That was a rare thing, especially in this city.
"No, he didn't. If he tried, I'd be at a seminary right now." It was more the fact that he was a murderer, a sodomite, and a whore who, because of his parentage, wasn't entirely certain he possessed a soul.
She wanted to say...something, she didn't even know what. Possibly a suggestion that he could come to church with her if he wanted, but it was hardly her place to drag him anywhere, was it? She was a fake, a fraud, and he might not like to know she was deceiving him. No gentleman, indeed.
"I don't think you're as bad as you believe you are. Its a man's nature to think himself worse than he truly is. I think...to use your own words, I think you're underestimating yourself."
Had he not caught himself, Izzy would have given Cullen a pitying smile, maybe even said something about how he didn't know the half of it. But Christ this was getting depressing. He was here to celebrate a bittersweet victory, not contemplate religion. So, it was his turn to stare at Cullen for a little while, wondering what would turn the conversation. He gave a smile that made its best effort to be genuine and said, "Maybe I am. Maybe you are. Maybe we should both be a bit more confident."
Quick change of topic. "So, where're you from?"
"I was actually born in London," Fox answered, because yes, a subject change was a delightful idea. "But the sisters at the hospital saw me into foster care when I was still a baby so's I could be adopted by good family. I grew up on the edges of the city with the Cullens on their farm. You'd like Mrs. Cullen, I think. She never met a mouth she didn't want to feed."
She was regaining her emotional equilibrium, and she leaned forward on her elbows as she added, "I suppose one day I'll go back for a bit. Home is always home, no matter that I like the city life so far. But I have to find my feet, make a place for myself first." She took another drink, wiped foam off of her upper lip. "Do ye play cards at all?"
"Oh." It seemed that he had a weird way of answering questions while at the same time not answering them, and Izzy thought he should try to learn it. Though, he supposed his question had been answered, just not very detailedly. But then, 'just outside the city' was about as vague as 'Essex'. "Yeah, it's amazing like that, you go a foot out of the city and suddenly you're in another world, eh?"
Laughing a little, Izzy replied, "I do, though not very well. I only learned how to play when I came to the city, it never really held my interest back home, but now that I'm here I've gotten very good at losing." On purpose, most of the time, though he wasn't entirely sure if he could win if he tried.
"If you'd like..." Fox stopped talking, scooted her seat closer to the bar so a very fat man could squeeze his way past them, and as he waddled away from them she wondered if the seams of his trousers might not just give up the ghost from trying to hold all that blubber in. Her brow puckered with concern, but after a moment she shook it off.
"If you'd like, some of the lads who work nearby play cards for a little bit of money. You could sit in if you wanted, play a few hands."
What was she doing? Her habit had become to keep to herself, partly because she never had much to say and partly because she was worried about being caught out. She tried to take a moment to re-consider it, but if she was honest with herself she was a little lonely here in such a big city. And she...she liked him and wanted to have a friend. "If you've the time, o'course."
Izzy studied the man before realized that he probably did not know him and was therefore in no danger from him. When he'd first come to London, Izzy had been afraid because he hadn't known anyone, and now that he'd been here almost seven months he was now afraid of people recognizing him, especially in front of other people he was trying to make a good impression on.
Shaking his head, Izzy replied, "No, I've got to send whatever I make that I don't need home. It's just my luck I have some extra today. If it weren't for money, that'd be a different story, but I don't know as I could afford to lose."
"Right. Debts and all. Guess it slipped my mind for a second there." Fox was looking down into her half-empty mug again, one heavy workshoe scraping against the bottom rung of the stool. The thumb of her unoccupied hand tapped lightly against the wooden surface of the bar. She pretended to take great interest in the precariously balanced tray of tankards that was being carried by the barmaid, wondering idly if one of them might not crash to the floor, spilling the remnants of its contents onto the floorboards before she could set it down again.
"I know that Mr. Templeton is goin' to be hiring more men for this order of work we've got." Keeping the statement casual, wiping beer foam away from her upper lip with the cuff of her shirt sleeve. "He'll be down at the workhouse this week lookin' for them what's willing to put their hands to some labor. I can't say what hours your other job has ye on, but you'd find good wages and fair treatment with himself."
"It's fine," Izzy smiled, trying hard to look sincere, "Happens all the time." There were very few people he knew who did listen to him, or at least, made it look like they did. He knew full well there was one reason most people paid any attention to him at all. Though he'd never admit it, that was why it was why he enjoyed talking to Cullen, or really anyone who didn't know him or what he did. He was on the bottom rung of the social ladder here, but so long as he didn't have to say it, there was a chance he could carry on like a normal person.
He looked over to where Cullen was looking, noted the tray and the barmaid, and kept half an eye on it. There seemed to be some sort of field of bad luck around Izzy and everything he was interested in, so a drunken man came stumbling by and crashed into her. He might have been a quarter-inch from her when Izzy jumped up and, to human eyes would have seemed to have flown over to where she was, getting his hand under the tray just in time. He handed it back to her and, before she or anyone else could say anything, ducked out and went back over to where he had been sitting. This was nothing new to him, in fact, he and Mr. Theralt had made something of a game of it in the Green Rabbit, just a simple test of speed and agility.
Leaning on his elbow, Izzy took a swig of his beer, looking a touch winded but otherwise completely normal. "Wouldn't have to do much to gain that distinction," he said with a small smirk, "Are there any particular skill requirements? Being that you're making things and all." This was a part of the game, even though he was the only one playing. Considering how out of practice he seemed, he probably should have played more often.
For the second time, Fox was left staring, but this time for a different reason. She turned her head to look at the barmaid, who seemed too tired to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, and one dark eyebrow lifted as she turned back to face Izzy. Had to be simple good reflexes on his part, though it did leave open to question why his reflexes had been so poor on the occasion of their earlier meeting that he'd gotten himself roughed up. Still, there was no polite way she could frame a question about it, at least not at the moment.
"Mr. Templeton does most of the shapin' of the stone himself," she said instead. "His eyes aren't what they used to be, but as long as he's got enough light he puts in the same hours as his crew. Otherwise, he has me tending to my share of the work. The men he'll be hiring are mostly for carting supplies back and forth, then loadin' up the finished columns into wagons for transport." She picked up her tankard, studied her companion over the rim of it as she took a drink. Careful, she would have to be careful with her words now.
"Ye seem to be in fit enough shape to handle manual labor, though I can't speak to your willingness to engage in heavy liftin'. Should you be inclined, though, the job will be on offer soon enough."
Though he should have been used to it, even enjoyed it since it might have meant a little bit more money, Izzy had never really liked the feel of eyes on him, no matter what the spirits. Frankly, it made him nervous. He looked into his tankard, though he tried to keep his expression casual, as though he'd just seen something in there, but even so he probably couldn't have stopped himself from flushing a little, embarassed.
All the same, he smiled and replied, "Well then I'll have to see about it. Heavy lifting's no issue for me, spite of how I look." He looked up then and leaned on his elbow. "And where is the workhouse, anyway? Been there once, first day I came to London, but I suppose I was lead other ways."
Now she was the one looking down again, as if the two of them couldn't quite manage to make eye contact for some reason. God help her, but she was a terrible person for trying to make friends with him under false pretenses. He talked so much of liars, and what was she if not exactly that? She'd felt a lot of things since first donning men's clothes for the sake of being able to work, but never guilty, at least not like this.
"I can give ye directions to find the place," she offered in a gruff voice. "I'd show you there myself, but I expect we've both got other things to do with our day than go traipsin' about the city. Remind me to write down the way before I go so I don't forget."
"Alright," he replied brightly, "Y'know, I had no luck there last time I went - I had no skills to speak of and I was seventeen already. But the work you're talking about seems like anyone could do it," he quickly backtracked, "Wait, wait, no, that wasn't what I meant at all. Just seems like I could get hired and all. Get a start." Yes, a start. Maybe it'd lead him out of this little nightmare he'd gotten himself into, finally. Get himself into something he could actually tell his mother about. It wasn't exactly a gentlemanly thing to do, but maybe she'd even be proud of him.
He smiled as he thought of this, but that smile seemed to fall off almost immediately. The man hadn't noticed him yet, but Izzy could see, even from where he sat, that he knew him. Izzy went bone white as hard as he tried not to, and swallowed the rest of his beer in one go, partly to not waste money and partly to cover up his expression. With his luck, the man would notice him and it'd be all downhill from there. Why now? Was there some law against him making friends in this city?
Putting his mug down carefully as not to make any noise, Izzy said all at once, "You know I think I can find my own way there it was good seeing you but I really must be off." With that, he stood up, smiled weakly at Cullen and waved goodbye before disappearing into the crowd, practically running out the door.
Before she could say anything else, he was babbling something about having to go right then, and she watched the door swing closed in his wake as he left the tavern. Puzzled, Fox looked down into the dregs of her beer, then finished them off before ordering a refill. She never had more than two or three when she came in, so she could stand to have a last drink before she left. Her brow was creased with thought as she looked back at the now-closed door.
Strange bloke, that Mr. Samuel. And he was in trouble somehow, even past her ulterior motives she could see it. She would have to ask the Lord for guidance, if only to keep her honest. The apprentice lifted her newly full mug in the direction her companion had departed, wishing him luck in outrunning whatever was after him.