"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
"You're askin' if there's cows like...like you?" This was probably the most directly he'd acknowledged Arabella's "oddity,"
The girl jumped a little at that, but then nodded "Yeah... cows like me."
But his moment of treading lightly vanished as he answered Arabella's question. "'Course not! Animals don't do that. It ain't in their nature."
"Exactly" Arabella agreed "But people aren't natural, are they? We live in houses and towns and cities and ride round in railroad cars and send messages over wires and eat food out of tin cans and... and commit original sin." She had to admit to herself that she'd committed some very original ones herself. "We're not natural critters and some of us do unnatural things. Guess we've got unnatural natures..."
He leaned forward, the blanket dipping dangerously low around his hips as he grabbed Arabella's arm. "You're tellin' me that Pettigrew's a bull who likes bulls?" It was still easier to stick to the bull analogy.
Miss Mudd nodded her funny little head but didn't shrug the hold of his firm hand off of the pale skin of her scrawny biceps.
"Yup. And guess who's the cutest little muley bull in the field?" she said before glancing down. "Say, do you mind putting that thing away? I know it's big and you're proud of it, but I don't like the way it keeps lookin' at me!" she admonished. "And how come it's still stickin' up that a-way, anyways? You don't even like me like that, we're just pals, remember?" she frowned.
"Anyhow, when Pettigrew come round to ours last night, he was ravin' on about having 'pulled back from the precipice' - so I guess your ... 'precipice' is all right, huh?" she added.
Brendan wasn't a deep thinker at the best of times, and this was definitely not the best of times for him. He tuned out most of Arabella's philosophizing until he finally figured out what Arabella meant about Pettigrew. He let Arabella go after a minute, still reeling from her news. It was almost flattering to know that Pettigrew found him attractive -- or as Arabella had put it, a cute muley bull. Almost. His body must have found it more flattering than his head did.
He rolled his eyes at Arabella, but pulled the blanket up higher to at least partially oblige her. "Maybe if you brought me my goddamn clothes, it wouldn't stick up so much," he said with a flash of ill humor. "And just 'cause I don't like you that way doesn't mean it don't."
Caught off guard by his hangover and the revelation about Pettigrew, Brendan was struggling to make sense and to not snap at Arabella. Normally he could tolerate her, but today he didn't want to have to deal with her. He just wanted his clothes back so he could go to work.
Brendan was unsure what a precipice was, but based on everything Arabella was saying, his was safe. "I guess so," he replied cautiously, stretching a little bit. Nothing was sore, so his precipice must be all right. "So if Pettigrew didn't take my clothes, did you? Did I mess 'em up when I was sick?"
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
He rolled his eyes at Arabella, but pulled the blanket up higher to at least partially oblige her. "Maybe if you brought me my goddamn clothes, it wouldn't stick up so much," he said with a flash of ill humor. "And just 'cause I don't like you that way doesn't mean it don't."
Arabella thought about that for a second, then nodded her head "Oh yeah, I never though o' that." she agreed. God, she was almost as dim-witted as he was! "Well, just tell him to stop winking at me and to behave like a gentleman!" Anyway, she let him know that a lust-filled Wus had at least 'pulled back from the precipice' last night.
Brendan was unsure what a precipice was, but based on everything Arabella was saying, his was safe. "I guess so," he replied cautiously, stretching a little bit. Nothing was sore, so his precipice must be all right. "So if Pettigrew didn't take my clothes, did you? Did I mess 'em up when I was sick?"
"No, you was naked as the day you was born when I got here." she informed him, jumping up off the bed and starting to look high and low for the lost toggery, at one point getting down on all fours to look under the bed and the tallboy. "Well, I found the chamber pot at least. Don't look." she ordered him before a tinkling noise filled the room. Then she carried on with the hunt, eventually giving an excited whoop as she opened a wardrobe door. "Whoo! Found 'em. I forgot, Wus ain't a slob like us, he hangs clothes up properly. Here we go: shirt, pants, vest, boots,... er, are these yours?"
She had been throwing the garments willy-nilly onto the bed, but now she held up a very disreputable looking pair of long-johns. She frowned at them and then at him. "You know you're meant to put on clean underwear now and again, Mississippi?" she asked and then pulled at her own crinkled and somewhat stained-looking drawers and darned stockings "Y'know, I change these once a week, regular as clockwork, whether I need to or not, right after my Sunday night bath!" She said, trying to set before him a model of hygiene he might emulate "As the poet said, cleanliness is next to godliness!"
Brendan averted his eyes while Arabella relieved herself. Or, more accurately, he closed his eyes and massaged his temples. His eyes popped open again when Arabella found his clothes. Pettigrew had apparently hung them up last night before escaping to the refuge.
So...that must mean Pettigrew had walked right up to the precipice before pulling back. Brendan crossed his arms over his chest, feeling slightly exposed. Did he even want Pettigrew to tailor the suit for him now? Maybe a better question was, why wouldn't he stick to the plan they'd already made. If Pettigrew had been able to reign in his desires when Brendan lay in a drunken sleep, surely he didn't have anything to fear from a fitting or two. Yeah, there was no reason to cancel on the poor pathetic tailor.
He looked up as Arabella held up his long johns with a disapproving look on her face.
"Yeah, they're mine." He grabbed at the long johns. "I'm goin' to get Miz Wigfall to wash 'em soon." To tell the truth, the thought hadn't crossed his mind, but Arabella didn't need to know that. She was already prim and proper enough with her own washing habits, although you couldn't tell by looking at her clothes.
"You change right back into 'em again, by the looks of it," he said with a chuckle, eyeing her undergarments dubiously. "Alright, Arabella. I'm gonna count to three and then stand up. You best turn around or skedaddle. Maybe get me that coffee while I'm gettin' dressed, yeah? One..." He gripped the blanket in preparation to fling it back and get up.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
"Yeah, they're mine." He grabbed at the long johns. "I'm goin' to get Miz Wigfall to wash 'em soon." To tell the truth, the thought hadn't crossed his mind, but Arabella didn't need to know that. She was already prim and proper enough with her own washing habits, although you couldn't tell by looking at her clothes.
"Oh yeah, I bet she'd love to give your undies a good soakin'" chuckled the girl heading to the door.
"You change right back into 'em again, by the looks of it," he said with a chuckle, eyeing her undergarments dubiously. "Alright, Arabella. I'm gonna count to three and then stand up. You best turn around or skedaddle. Maybe get me that coffee while I'm gettin' dressed, yeah? One..." He gripped the blanket in preparation to fling it back and get up.
"Oh no, a naked man, I can't look!" laughed Arabella, putting her hands up to her eyes with an obvious crack between her fingers where she could peep through. She dropped her hands. "Well don't mind me, I saw the whole vegetable stall last night when you were being sick: couple of chick-peas and a withered carrot!" actually more like two apples and a marrow but she wasn't telling him that, get him all big headed. "Come on then... TWO...." she dared him to reveal all, then, still laughing turned her back on him to go out the shouting "All right, I'll leave to to hide your pitiful shame, THREE!"
She opened the door to an open-mouthed Jemima, carrying the tray of coffee she always brought up to Mister Pettigrew's room when she arrived at work at the crack of dawn. The frowsy girl stared straight past the scantily clad Arabella to the naked form of Brendan hopping out of bed. She couldn't drag her eyes away from her mother's lodger, but said to Arabella in awe "I thought you didn't like men!"
How did Arabella know about Mrs. Wigfall's preference for young men? Brendan rolled his eyes and prepared to get up, even warning Arabella that he was about to expose himself if she didn't go away. But she didn't go away. She didn't even look away!
And worse, she was laughing at him. Chick peas and a withered carrot?! His pride was hurt even though he knew she was teasing.
"Oh, shut up. You know that ain't true." He glared at Arabella and finally flung the covers back as soon as she turned away. But, just as he was getting his balance, who should show up at the door other than Jemima?
Could this morning get any worse? Brendan hurriedly hopped into his long johns, shimmied them up his body, and did up the buttons while glaring at Jemima and Arabella. "She don't like men!" he snapped, going over to snatch the mug of coffee from Jemima's tray. "She don't like me and I don't like her." He loomed over Jemima as he took a big gulp of the coffee.
His eyes immediately bugged out and he made a strangled noise, then swallowed hard. "It's hot," he said sulkily.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
Could this morning get any worse? Brendan hurriedly hopped into his long johns, shimmied them up his body, and did up the buttons while glaring at Jemima and Arabella. "She don't like men!" he snapped, going over to snatch the mug of coffee from Jemima's tray.
Arabella and Jemima just stood amazed at Brendan's ire, he seemed to be over-reacting greatly. Arabella wondered if he was maybe just a bit rattled at his close shave.
"She don't like me and I don't like her." He loomed over Jemima as he took a big gulp of the coffee.
The Virginian girl looked genuinely upset. All she had said was just in fun.
His eyes immediately bugged out and he made a strangled noise, then swallowed hard. "It's hot," he said sulkily.
Jemima and Arabella looked at each other... and then burst out laughing.
"Aw, come on Brendan, we love you to bits, don't we Jemima?"
Jemima just shyly nodded.
"And you like us, don'tcha? Just a little bit?... and we all love Bridget, and that's the important thing. And I'm sorry I made fun of you, I mean, hey, I've seen the pictures of all them Greek statues in Jake Lutz's book: all them fellers standing around without their long-johns on and believe me, you're much bigger... er... better than them! Mississippi looks nice without his clothes on, don't he Jemima?" she asked, teasing the other girl now, but Miss Wigfall just nodded and whispered something that sounded like "Nice", before turning the heat back on the underwear clad Arabella.
"Anyway, shouldn't you make yourself respectable and decent?"
"Oh I reckon I will, in about 60 years time!" Arabella quipped, rather optimistically, as it would turn out.
Arabella jerked a thumb at Brendan "I think he's got a hangover, is all."
Jemima looked up at Brendan "Would you like me to fetch you a cure, Mr Connelly?" she asked "The 'hair of the dog that bit you'?"
Arabella and Jemima laughed at him. They laughed at him when he'd nearly burned the skin off his tongue! His face darkened, but Arabella's stricken face at his reaction made him feel the tiniest bit guilty for how he'd spoken to her and Jemima. He went back over to the bed and blew on the coffee before drinking any more. The warmth helped him relax and think more clearly.
It also helped that Arabella compared him to Greek statues and he came out on top. That helped a lot. "I do like you," he said grudgingly. "Just a little bit. I just...my head don't like anyone right now. Not even me."
Luckily Arabella recognized that he had a hangover, and Jemima, who'd really just been staring at him the whole time, offered him a cure.
Brendan's eyes lit up a bit. "If you can find any liquor in here, I want it. But Pettigrew and I-" he gulped. "We finished up all his whiskey last night." Why did he feel so...vulnerable? Nothing had happened. And even if Pettigrew hadn't pulled back from the precipice, Brendan hadn't been so far gone that he wouldn't have been able to get the best of Pettigrew in a struggle. But still...
He leaned over -- carefully because of his head -- to pick up his shirt and slide into it. He couldn't wait around too long, but he could wait for Jemima's hair of the dog.
"THERE'S SOMEBODY AT THE DOOR!!!"
Brendan's eyes lit up a bit. "If you can find any liquor in here, I want it. But Pettigrew and I-" he gulped. "We finished up all his whiskey last night."
Jemima walked over to the bed while Arabella found her own dress and corsets and boots and bonnet and shawl started to put them on: she too had to get to work. The Wigfall girl stood over the adorable looking man and reached deep into her apron pockets, and pulled out a little flask of dull weathered silver, the cap of which she unscrewed, and sat down next to Brendan on the bed, offering the vessel to him.
"Here, I have a slug now and again when I get the blue miseries." she told him, and then, gingerly, put her hand comfortingly on his back. Gingerly because she was torn: she wanted to make him feel better, but felt guilty about the pleasure she would personally get by touching the handsome man.
"I'm sorry we laughed" she said "And I'm sorry if something bad happened last night...?" she didn't know the full story, of course.
Arabella called over "It's all right, Mister Pettigrew just got him drunk and then took all his clothes off. But then he left and came over to mine!" she summarized for the frowsy girl.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mister Connelly. I should have warned you about Mister Pettigrew's problem... he... he struggles with it often." she said shame faced. She hadn't mentioned it last night because it felt somehow disloyal to her employer to mention it. "I should have guessed that he would find someone as attractive as you impossible to resist. Heck, he even tried it on once with Hector."
"REALLY?!!" Arabella yelped, hurrying over "What happened?"
But Jemima shook her head "Mister Connelly doesn't want to hear about that sort of thing, do you Mr Connelly?" she stated, continuing to rub his back in a calming manner (not that it was making her feel very calm, it had to be said).
Brendan's eyes lit up again as he accepted the flask from Jemima. He sipped from it, then tilted it into his coffee cup and took another swig of the now Irish coffee.
At least Jemima felt bad about the part she'd played in last night's events. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mister Connelly. I should have warned you about Mister Pettigrew's problem... he... he struggles with it often."
"Yeah, you should've told me," he said grimly, meeting Jemima's eyes. "I damn near made a fool of myself. I mean, I guess I did anyway. But I wouldn't have gotten so drunk."
Why, if Pettigrew liked men so much, didn't he specialize in men's clothes instead of ladies'? It was another layer of protection for him, probably. Suddenly Brendan realized he had a choice to make. He could spread the word around town of Pettigrew's aberration, or he could keep quiet about it the way Jemima and whoever else knew about it did.
Having already been the victim of Granny Miggins' smear campaign, Brendan could well imagine the ruin Pettigrew would be in if word got out. Did the man deserve that?
He glanced up as Arabella expressed curiosity about Hector's encounter with Pettigrew. "You can tell about it if you want. I ain't really listenin'." He leaned back into Jemima's touch. Now that felt good. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that the young woman rubbing his back was slender, blonde or red-haired, and had round light eyes and luscious lips. He kept his eyes closed.