June 22nd, 1877
East Maddock Boarding House Lower Room
Lockett is seated in one of the chairs. The man is knitting. Yes, /knitting/. And damn if it doesn't appear he knows how to do it. He glances up at Elise's entrance and simply nods.
Elise descends the stairs, a blue leather-bound book in her hands. A worn piece of cloth marks the woman's place in the book. Golden eyebrows raise in surprise at the knitting man, but the woman quickly conceals it and smiles politely.
Over, under, tuck the needle. Re-wrap. Over, under, tuck the need. Re-wrap. Lockett pauses to regard his work then makes a soft mewling sound as he counts the stitches and realizes he's done three too many. Pull, pull, pull. He finally look up again since the woman isn't exiting and offers her one of his friendly smiles. "Evening, Miss."
Elise returns the smile with a warm one of her own, "Good Evening, Sir. You seem rather proficient at that." She gestures with one hand to the knitting, her eyes glinting in amusement. "I am afraid I was never rather good at it."
Lockett beams as the woman notices and holds up the item. It's simply a stretch of yarn about four inches deep and 3 feet wide, one can only guess what it is to become. "You think?" He looks it over and nods, he is, isn't he? "It's a good way to keep my hands and fingers nimble." And comes in handy when a man's out of cash to gamble away at the saloon. He indicates the other chair, "It's really not so hard, I could help you get better."
Elise must admit that she has never had a man offer to teach her to knit before. A grin threatens her lips as she moves to sit. "It is kind of you to offer, but I fear I would only serve to exasperate you." She chuckles softly, giving him an almost sheepish look, "I really am quite bad at it."
Letitia rushes in from the street, holding a damp handkerchief over her nose and mouth. What can be seen of her violet eyes is all wetness and shimmer as she hurries across the room toward the stairs. A sob wells up from her throat, but Letitia doesn't care how many rumors she is going to cause. She's too upset to worry about what others might think at this point.
Lockett nods, accepting the woman's assessment of herself. He looks up at the other woman's entrance, the sight of her tears causing him to frown in concern. He murmurs towards Elise, "Tsk, something is amiss."
Elise rises to her feet instantly upon seeing the other woman, "Letitia!" She takes a few
hesitant steps, not really wishing to chase her friend but not desiring to let her run off in that state, either.
Letitia pauses at the bottom of the stairs, looking miserably to Elise as she lowers the handkerchief. The poor young woman's eyes are already puffy and her cheeks are pink. "I-I did it, Elise. I... I broke his heart," she announces before erupting into another fit of sobs.
To break a man's heart, oh even the odd Lockett can understand such sorrow. He stands, setting his knitting aside but leaves the woman's to Elise's care. Still, if she keeps crying like that she is going to look puffy for days. Really puffy, not to mention the rash she might get. Not the time to bring these things up, Lockett determines his sigh soft for the love forlorn.
Elise stares at Letitia uncertainly, not quite sure who's she's talking about. Still, grasping for the most likely, she asks softly, "Mr. Noble?" The writer moves a few steps closer to the other woman, ready to offer any comfort she can.
Letitia abruptly nods, lamenting, "I am an awful, terrible person! I hurt him so... and how I wish that I could take it back!" She presses the hanky over her eyes and shudders as she drags in another breath. "Oh, poor Laurence. How could I!" Without lingering further, Letitia storms up the stairs to her room, still weeping.
Lockett watches the retreating woman then sits down, setting his knitting back on his lap. He simply shakes his head at the poor woman's lament. "And one wonders why I go out of my way to avoid them." Just what, he doesn't say.
Elise halts at the bottom of the steps, staring up them anxiously. She worries her bottom lip, but makes no movement to climb the steps. Exhaling softly, the woman comments, "I suppose she will want some time alone." Still, she doesn't step away from the bottom of the steps, hazel-green eyes fixed upwards. "What a horrible mess."
Lockett is looking at his knitting, it was caught in his button when he stood and 4 rows have come undone. He also now appears ready to cry. "It is! Isn't it?" Oh. He stuffs the mess away then realizes Elise is still standing at the bottom of the stairs. Glancing upwards he states, "Oh.. you mean her." Right.
Elise glances towards the man, the dark expression on her face fading a bit. "Ah...Having a bit of trouble with the knitting?" In fact, the woman would look downright amused were it not for the lingering distress in her eyes.
Lockett waves his hand dismissingly, "Nothing that I can't fix when I am of the mood. At the moment, I am no longer interested." He looks over Elise again, refraining from any comment that the woman's choice of brown and copper just really doesn't suit her hair color. She rather looks like a dead sunflower. "You know.." Uh oh, he is going to say something. "I could knit you a shawl if you like, a nice brilliant color to make you not look so pale."
Is Elise supposed to be surprised that yet another person is commenting on her not-so-stellar fashion sense? Her lips twitch and clasping her hands in front of her, she inquires sweetly, "What color were you considering?" The woman is trying desperately not to allow that grin across her lips.
It is so convenient that Lockett has his knitting bag /right/ here. Of course, men don't carry these things so it's no surprise when he picks up the beaten leather saddle bags and rummages within. "Well let's see, a shawl usually takes quite a bit." He inventories his stock and sighs, "You know, I don't seem to have enough to offer you colors, is there a general store about?" Not that Lockett can afford to purchase anything at the moment, but tomorrow is another day.
Thierry explains to Lee as they arrive together, "If need be, we might be able to arrange something about you staying in our room. If you need to. I don't know how much money you have or anything." He seems aimed towards the kitchen.
Elise stares at him with rather wide eyes. Its at times like these that's she's horribly glad for the spectacles that at least somewhat hide her amazement. She inclines her head to hide her smile, shrugging her shoulders. "I am certain there is one, somewhere, but you need not trouble yourself. I am..ah...sure I shall be find without the addition of a shawl. It was very kind of you to offer."
Lee nods, his stomach leading him more then Thierry. He glances at the pair before moving to follow Thierry. "Stay in your room? Might that be a bit cramped?"
Lockett takes a moment to ignore Elise and look over both the new arrivals. Well, nothing worth crooning over, is there? He stuffs several bolts of yarn back into his saddle bag and inquires of Elise, "What is it there that you are reading?"
Thierry shrugs slightly, "Probably. Or I could camp out. I thought you mind need the help, that's all." He glances sidelong to the other pair, tipping his hat to them. "How do ya do?" He doesn't stop, but rather heads for kitchen.
Lee considers Thierry camping out. And this would mean he gets to sleep in the room. With Theo. He simply shrugs, "Dunno, he still snore?" He disappears into kitchen after Thierry.
Elise watches the other two leave for the kitchen before glancing back at the book, as if she had truly forgotten about it. The writer moves to the chair where she dropped the book at Letitia's entrance, lifting the leather-bound volume once more. "Jane Eyre." She chuckles softly, noting, "It is sometimes nice to read something with a happy ending."
Lockett exclaims, "Oh! I love her. Just love her." He strains to see the book's cover, "With one is it?" The man indeed seems to be ready to grad it right out of Elise's hand should she not protect it.
Elise lifts the book up, but does keep her grasp on it. "I am surprised you have read it. " Though, really, she's not sure she is. The man seems like the type that might enjoy it. Then, almost impishly, she asks, "What do you think of Jane Austen? Have you read her Pride and Prejudice?"
Matilda struggles down the stairs with her carpetbags, darkly frowning as she clutches to them as if they hold everything she holds dear. You never know, they just might.
The fit of her clothes suggests that the girl has outgrown them before they could be replaced. The cuffs of her longsleeved shirt stop short of her wrists. The buttons are easily done up over her abdomen, but they no longer meet over her chest. The cotton chemise she wears underneath is visible between the gaping buttons. A faded blue skirt fastens over a narrow waist only to fall over curvy hips and downward to end just above her bare, slender ankles. The battered brown leather shoes she's wearing appear to be a little too big for her feet.
Upon her head is a floppy felt hat that has seen better days. Nearby or in her possession are a pair of tightly stuffed carpetbags caked with dust.
Lockett should probably help the lass on the stairs and maybe he considers it, but wouldn't that mean exerting himself? After all, she seems to be handling it... well, alright. Lockett nods to Elise as he stands, "I've read all of her stuff, though I must admit, her prose is terribly wordy." He approaches the bottom of the stairs, "You need some assistance, Miss?"
Matilda looks up at Lockett somewhat warily as she struggles to get her luggage down the narrow stairs. "Merci beaucoup," she says to his offer, pausing to catch her breath. "I am sorry to bother you, Monsieur. You will pardon moi, yes?"
A new respect seems to enter Elise's eyes as she regards the man...and even more amusement. She offers a smile towards Matilda, calling out cheerfully, "Hello." She had to do something, else she would collapse in the fit of laughter that has been close to surfacing all evening.
Lockett reaches out and takes on bag. Being from New Orleans, the woman's language is not completely foreign to him. "Il est mon plaisir, petit celui." Damn! This bag is heavy, the remark comes in
English, "You have a dead boddy in here, little one?"
At Lockett's comment in English, Matilda's face eases into an expression of quiet amusement. "Non, monsieur. No corpses. Only what few things I was able to carry from the house of my parents, oui?" Her English is more than passable, though her accent is strong. It isn't New Orleans French. It's Quebec French. "You are kind to help me."
Lockett smiles and sputters at the compliment, dragging the bag across the floor. To lift it might mean to hurt something and one mustn't have that. "Are you truly departing at such a late hour?" He glances out the door, "It's dark out you know." Very dark out. And there are wolves, Lockett has heard them.
Matilda confesses, "I thought to sleep down here. For tonight, anyway. I do not like how one of the men upstairs looks at me in the common room and I am too stingy to pay for a room all to myself." The girl steps off the stairs and tugs a little at her ill-fitting shirt.
"Sleep down here?" In the boarding house main floor? The man looks downright shocked, more so than any lady of the LAC might ever consider to appear. "You cannot do this, there are all sorts of types coming and going." And look here comes one now. "Surely you can find another option?"
Thierry comes striding out of the kitchen, a bundle of anger and fury. He's not in the mood to be polite to, well, anyone. Though he does manage a tip of his hat to the pair. He doesn't even register that it's a different woman.
"I do not know how," Matilda states to Lockett with a small frown. "There are many who pass in and out, oui, but that should mean there are enough people about to keep me safe? I do not want to go back up to the common room. Jacques d'Oncle is not with me now, so they all misbehave."
Lockett glances at Thierry again, dismissing him as the earlier non-noteworthy man as before... woah, wait a minute, he looks rather angry. Yes, Lockett gives him a second appraisal from head to toe, yes, he wears anger well. Huh? Oh, the
French wench. "Misbehave? Whatever do you mean?" Lockett's been sleeping in the common room and no one's made an off color remark to him, more's the pity.
Matilda folds her arms beneath her chest before realizing that only emphasizes what the miners upstairs seem to like about her. With more of a scowl, she loosens her arms and looks darkly at Lockett. "They give me these -looks-, oui?"
Thierry continues to stalk through and out the door with a slam of the front door. Of course, this being Maddock, there's only one place that one can go to alleviate such anger - the saloon.
"Well good judgment." When the man has it, "tells me that I can't let you sleep down here. Where is your cot? I can move mine next to yours and watch over you." Now that seems like the gentleman thing to say, course should she sleep, he'll be snoring right behind her.
Matilda's mouth purses and she reaches down to take up the less faded carpet bag. "It is along the wall close to the door. Mon oncle, he is very strong, I warn you. He makes trees fall and chops them up for a living. So do not think you can get frisky with me, monsieur. Do you understand?"
"Frisky with /you/?" Yes, the man laughs. He moves to retrieve the luggage. Does he really have to sport this up the stairs? Hernia's have been given for less, "Tell me, Fille, about your uncle. Is his axe big?"
Jacques comes in from outside, not down the stairs. Down the stairs would be silly since his niece was just complaining about men eyeing her funny because her uncle wasn't there to watch over her.
Matilda actually pauses to think up an answer for Lockett's question. Finally, she states, "I do not know, monsieur. I have never seen it. I think it would be big, if it chops down trees, oui?"
Lockett simply nods. Big indeed. He drags the luggage back towards the bottom of the stairs assuring the miss, "I shall not look at you oddly, nor consider coming frisky with you miss, but you cannot sleep down here."
A man a little on the short side with very broad shoulders that give him the overall appearance of being square in shape. His head is completely hairless except for bushy black eyebrows and a handlebar moustache that is his pride and joy. His eyes are a light grey and his nose has been broken a few times at least. His arms, shoulders, and chest are all well developed from long hours spent swinging an axe. When he speaks his accent betrays him to be a French-Canadian. He is dressed in a red flannel shirt, blue denim pants held up with suspenders, and sturdy work boots.
Jacques smiles when he comes in. "Ah, Matilda, there you are. 'ow 'ave you been today, mon petit?" He glances at the luggage that the man is dragging and his expression quickly turns suspicious. "What is going on 'ere?"
"Jacques d'Oncle!" the girl says in relief. "It is good that you are here. This monsieur, he was going to help me upstairs again because he says I cannot sleep here in this room."
Lockett starts at the voice, dropping his grasp of the luggage and turning. Oh! Bald is beautiful, especially when accompanied by muscles. Lockett smiles at Jacques holding both hands up innocently, "Je suis innocent!" He exclaims, "I was just trying to convince the miss that she cannot sleep downstairs."
Protestations of innocence don't appear to hold much water with Jacques, at least not where his niece is concerned, and he continues to eye the man warily. He looks like another dandified gambling sonuvabitch like that D'aray fellow over at the saloon. They're all a bunch of womanizers and he wouldn't trust any of them alone with Matilda. Finally he nods, "Well, I am 'ere now. I will 'elp 'er." And he looks at Matilda, "What is this about you sleeping down 'ere, eh?"
Well thank god for that. Lockett's arm muscles are /killing/ him from trying to be the gentleman and carry them. He nods once towards the thickly French accented man and then moves to slide around Matilda on the stairs. "Well then, I will bid you both good night."
Matilda says, "Merci beaucoup, monsieur. Do not mind mon oncle. He is protective, oui? I thank you for your troubles!"
Lockett departs upstairs, missing the pleasure of meeting any new arrivals.