Patience remembered the first time she spied John picking the lock to the grain store in the village. Entirely unnoticed, she’d crept up behind him until she was close enough to touch his shoulder - silently sneaking up on someone was another of her less desirable talents.
She’d watched him work a pin inside the lock until suddenly there was a clicking sound as the lock released. In the whole of her life, Patience had never heard a sound quite so satisfying. She must have made a noise because the boy swung round, ready to plant her a facer. Fortunately, his knavery didn’t include physical violence against women at least, and he’d managed to halt the blow before it landed. Nevertheless, the action caused Patience to fall backwards onto her backside with a loud oomph. The look of horror on his face had made her burst out laughing, even as the door to the grain store behind them slowly swung open.
Clearly thinking he’d been rumbled, the miscreant prepared to bolt, just as Patience yelled, ‘Wait.’
Something in her voice stopped him in his tracks. ‘Stop yer bloody yammering,’ he hissed looking round wildly. ‘I weren’t goin’ ter snaffle anyfin.’
‘How did you do that?’ Patience demanded, climbing to her feet slowly to avoid scaring him off.
‘Do what?’ he responded blithely. ‘I ain’t done nowt. Was just checking the lock is all.’
‘Well, the door was well and truly locked before you came along,’ retorted Patience, brushing herself down. ‘So it stands to sense you picked the lock. You’re a … a … rum dubber,’ she finished triumphantly, clearly proud of her knowledge of the word.
The boy stared at her grinning face, entirely nonplussed for a second. Then, shaking his head, he made as if to scarper for the second time.
‘Teach me,’ she ordered, stopping him in his tracks.
‘Wot?’ he frowned, wondering if she was addled.
‘I want you to show me how to pick locks,’ she continued in a softer tone, waving her hand towards the still open door in a gesture that insisted her request was perfectly commonplace for a young, unmarried girl.
‘You want me to teach you the black art?’ he asked incredulously.
Patience nodded eagerly.
‘You must be bloody dicked in the nob,’ was his scathing reply. ‘I ain’t teachin’ you nuffin. Go back an’ play wi’ yer dolls.’
Patience narrowed her eyes. ‘If you don’t teach me,’ she warned, planting her hands on her hips, ‘I’ll … I’ll cry rope on you. Right this second.’ She stepped back just in case he suddenly decided that lamping a female wasn’t beneath him after all.
‘No, you won’t,’ he answered, this time cockily. ‘If you woz goin’ to dob me in, you’d ‘ave done it by now. Who are you anyway?’ Then his eyes widened. ‘You’re the bloody vicar’s daughter, the strange one. Why the devil would you want to learn ‘ow to pick a bloody lock? Bet it’s ‘cos your old man locks you in every night. I know I would if you was my daughter goin’ round waylaying innocent men.’ Patience snorted, not in the least concerned about being called strange - she’d been called much, much worse.
‘There’s nothing innocent about you John Smith,’ she retorted. ‘See, I know your name, and I also know that your father’s nothing but a gallows bird. Everyone says so.’
The boy stepped forward and stuck his head forward indignantly. ‘Blast and bugger your eyes, you take that back Miss up yer arse Shackle … wotever you’re bloody name is. ‘My da’s as good as a leech any day.’
Patience scoffed. ‘Really? I heard the last time old Mrs Jenkins tried one of his tinctures, all her teeth fell out, and she wasn’t exactly a prime article to begin with…’
‘That weren’t nuffin to do wi’ my da. She was s’posed to rub it on ‘er damned feet, not drink the bloody stuff.’
Unbidden, a giggle threatened to escape,and Patience slapped her hand over her mouth to stop it. They stared at each other for a second until both suddenly burst into unexpected laughter.
As their mirth finally died away, John looked curiously at the young girl in front of him. He’d never met her like before. ‘Why are you dressed like a boy?’ he asked with a frown, suddenly noticing her distinct lack of petticoats. Patience shrugged in response. ‘No one takes notice of you when you’re wearing britches.’ She bent down to pick up her cap, lost when she’d fallen backwards. Dusting it down with a frown, she plonked it back on her head, determinedly tucking her heavy main of hair inside it.
‘Are you going to teach me the black art or not?’ she went on crossly as the rogue continued to stare silently at her. ‘I’ll cry rope on you if you don’t. I swear - crook my elbow and wish it never comes straight.’ She glared at him sticking out her chin. At length, he shook his head, sighing in capitulation. In truth, he could see no way out, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. ‘Meet me ‘ere tomorrow just afore dawn,’ he said through gritted teeth before turning his back on her.
‘My name’s Patience,’ she offered unexpectedly, causing him to pause briefly, though he said nothing. ‘What are you going to do now?’ she queried as he walked towards the still open door of the barn.
‘Some of us don’ go ‘ome to an ‘ot supper served on a table all nice like,’ he retorted over his shoulder. ‘So ifn yer don’ mind, I’ll get on an’ do wot I came ‘ere to do.’ He disappeared into the blackness of the grain store, as Patience looked round anxiously. She was just about to hurry away, when he suddenly stuck his head back out. ‘An’ me da’ reckoned it were the Old Tom wot made ‘er teeth fall out,’ he declared before determinedly shutting the door behind him.
Chapter Four
It had taken Patience three whole years to learn the black art, but by her fifteenth birthday, she was almost certain she could have picked the lock into the Crown Jewels should she so desire. John declared her, ‘nuffin but a braggart,’ but underneath, she could see he was impressed. Patience had never lost the feeling of satisfaction the sound of a lock finally clicking open gave her, but she knew her erstwhile tutor in crime was the only one who would ever truly understand, and despite their difference in stations and backgrounds, the two gradually developed a strong friendship. Patience even taught him how to read in exchange for his more exotic skills.
Now, laying on her sumptuous bed staring up at the beautifully embroidered canopy, Patience thought not for the first time how odd it was that her only real friend in the world was the son of a gallows bird. Indeed, as John was now nearing one and twenty, it was evident that he was fast becoming an even greater rogue than his father. Thankfully, as Patience had grown into a young woman, they’d never been tempted to any romantic entanglements, with John declaring impudently that she couldn’t afford him. But in truth, Patience had never thought of him that way, and she knew very well that he felt the same. But then neither had she dwelt on the irregular nature of their companionship. Until now.
Now, she very much feared her one and only friend would inevitably become another casualty on the altar of her sisters’ ambitions. In fact, none of her family were even remotely aware of her connection to someone they would undoubtedly consider a varmint. In truth, she couldn’t argue with such an assessment and fought a chuckle at the thought of Grace’s face if she should ever find out. Such a disclosure would entirely ruin any chance of an advantageous marriage…
Patience sat up. What a ninnyhammer. The solution was there right in front of her nose all the time. All she had to do was make sure somebody saw her and John together, then he could disappear, leaving her to her tattered reputation … and freedom.
