Author’s Note: The third chapter for Two For Tea! Already so far?? *big smile* Thanks for all that reviewed! I’m very happy! Now, I must warn you: This chapter is mostly all that childish innocence stuff, and sort of a highlight of the basis of the title, the characters, and the setting. So, I hope you enjoy it, but nothing super dramatic happens. Maybe next time.

Warning: Hmm…well. I suppose I should inform you that this is not how they spoke in the olden days…at all. They never said anything like “it’s” or “that’s”, but “it is” or “that is.” But that’s just too confusing for me, and very awkward to read. So I’m just sticking with modern day English speak.

Quick Author Babble: I like tea. But only with cream and sugar!

Chapter 3: Tea Party

James uplifted the soil around a particularly stubborn weed before grabbing onto the ugly, yellowish sprout and yanking for all he was worth. His arms were very sticklike when he’d first become the gardener, and weeding was most definitely his most difficult task. But being fed well and having tons of space to run around was doing him good, and recently he had become a little less lean and a little bit taller. The weed, along with its roots, came out without too much trouble. The almost eleven-year-old boy grinned widely at his achievement, holding it above his head to examine the intricate growth process. His tan gloves were completely covered in black soil, causing his hands to feel cool despite the summer heat. It was quite hot in Boston these days. He looked at his arms, his eyes widening in pleasant surprise at the strength they showed.

“Princess!” he shouted gleefully. When he had found out that the rest of the hired help called Mary that, he had taken to the nickname quickly. Mary really was like a princess, in both appearance and personality.

Mary looked up from her spot in the shade of a small tree. She had been focusing on the thick volume sitting open in her lap.

“Oh, what is it now, James?” she asked impatiently, sitting up until her back was completely straight to glare at him.

He ran over to her, his expression filled with pure joy, pointing at his right arm in excitement. “Look! Muscles!”

Her twinkling brown eyes squinted to examine the limb. “Indeed it is. Congratulations. You should’ve gotten them three years ago.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, but James didn’t even notice. He clenched his hand into a fist, sending pressure through his arm. The obvious bulge that appeared was so satisfying that he took off his glove to feel it.

“Wow,” he breathed, turning back to face Mary. “Not bad for only working a couple months, eh?”

The young girl rolled her eyes. “Honestly, your childish joy is a complete enigma to me.” James blinked a few times. Mary’s large vocabulary often threw him off.

“Huh?” he said, blurting out the first word that came to mind.

“Never mind,” she sighed, and resumed reading her book. James pouted for a few seconds at her lack of interest before breaking into a smile again. Mary was so predictable.

“Are you sure you’re only eight?” he inquired, coming up to her and bending slightly to look at her downcast face. She didn’t bother to look at him this time.

“You ask me that everyday, and yes, I’m positive.” Though her voice was cold, her lips showed slight amusement. James lifted one eyebrow before putting his glove back on and heading back to work.

xXx

Before long, a maid came bustling out with a tray. Wentworth followed soon after with a small, white table, with a kitchen assistant at his heels with two chairs. They all set their things down in appropriate order before bowing their upper bodies in respect towards Mary and giving a friendly wave towards James. The boy cheerfully returned the greeting as Mary eyed the setup warily.

“What’s this?” she asked. The employees exchanged glances before Wentworth stepped forward.

“It’s your miniature tea set, milady,” he replied steadily, avoiding her eyes.

“Why are there two seatings?” she questioned directly. James admonished the scene before him in worry. Mary always ate alone, usually inside, and he knew how much she hated change.

Wentworth cleared his throat and took a small gulp before answering. “Well…you see…it’s a hot day, princess, and your gardener has been working hard. We thought perhaps he would need a break…”

“Without my permission?” she snapped. The maid covered her mouth with her hand as the assistant looked upwards, whistling. Wentworth looked down sadly.

“You are right, madam, my apologies—” he began, when suddenly James jumped in, staring at the porcelain layout with amazement.

“Awesome!” he exclaimed most informally, restraining from touching anything as best he could. “This looks so expensive…and is that strawberry shortcake?!” His face shone with glee as his gaze fixed on the rare dessert that he’d never tried, or couldn’t remember if he’d tried.

Mary looked him over sullenly as he hopped around energetically, beaming with immature excitement. Finally, she released a breath.

“Very well. He may eat with me this once,” she said, glaring the people in front of her with utmost seriousness. “I don’t want the blame for his disappointment when it was your mistake in the first place. But this can never happen again, understood?”

They nodded with another bow. “Yes, milady,” they remarked in unison. They went back inside after exchanging a meaningful look.

Mary sat down gracefully, sliding her long, scarlet skirt in the perfect position so it wouldn’t brush the ground. James plopped down in the seat opposite, staring at it all in wonder. Everything had an intricate, flowery design on it—the plates, the cups, the cutlery…even the napkins! He watched as Mary elegantly poured a light brown liquid into her cup. She poured in some cream and lifted the gold handle of the sugar bowl with her pale fingers, extracting a teaspoon and stirring smoothly. James watched her with wide eyes. She did absolutely everything perfectly, as if she was in the presence of the King of England.

She took a sip, gave a small smile, and put it back down on her plate with a soft clink before looking up at him. “Well? Aren’t you going to have anything?”

He let out a gulp and pulled at his sweaty collar. “It all looks so fragile! What if I break something?”

“Oh, nonsense, this is just child’s play,” she said coolly, taking another sip from her cup. James gaped at her. This was child’s play?! How could anything so magnificent be labelled as that? At his look she released an exasperated sigh. “Clearly you haven’t seen Father’s china.” He shook his head, dumbfounded. If Mary’s looked like this, then Lord Johnson’s…

He didn’t want to think about it. Everything already made him too nervous. With shaky hands, he picked up the teapot and poured, watching the liquid pass in front of him like silk from a spindle. Immediately he put it down. It made a loud, almost angry sound that made him jump in his seat. Mary pretended not to notice and kept focused on her shortcake, which she now nibbled at.

She was really pretty, he decided with a blush, for he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the young maiden. Her shoulder-length, silky, dark hair shone in the sunlight, but her skin seemed unaffected by it, still very white, almost like snow. Dark brown eyes downcast at her plate, she didn’t notice James’s staring.

He rattled his head back and forth to get his brain working again. This was Mary—Mary, his boss. He had to treat her with respect. He distracted himself with his tea and took a long sip. The hot liquid came close to burning his tongue. He could feel tingling all the way down his throat. He let out a peaceful sigh at the sudden warmth that overcame him. Mary finally had the courtesy to look up at him. He met her gaze, and for awhile they just stayed like that, staring at each other. It was nothing awkward. It was just comfortable silence, like siblings had sometimes—those rare moments of peace where no one wished to argue or even speak, just admonish each other.

“You drink your tea plain?” she finally questioned, and James, who had went off to the happy, relaxing place in his head, quickly returned to reality to nod.

“Of course, madam,” he replied, blinking in surprise.

“Doesn’t it taste bitter?” she asked. She could never take the surprising strength that was in the steaming liquid alone. She always put plentiful amounts of cream and sugar till it was sweet enough to satisfy her taste.

James paused to ponder. “A bit, I suppose. But I like the natural taste it has to it. No need to add in other tastes. That just…well…um…not exactly ruins it, but…” His tongue couldn’t find the word, hard as he tried.

“You mean ‘dilutes’ it,” added Mary, her quantitative vocabulary to the rescue.

“Um…sure.” James nodded and gave her an innocent look of confusion. “What does that mean again?”

“Honestly! Haven’t you learned anything from school?” Mary snapped. This was the hundredth time James had asked her such a question in the past month. James glanced at her, his face flushing with embarrassment.

“I’m sure I have, I just forgot,” he replied bashfully. If there was one thing James couldn’t stand to talk about, it was his amnesia. “Besides, I don’t go to school, ’member? I have to tend to the garden.”

Mary looked at him, startled. Of course. This boy didn’t go to school. He had no authority to even make the trip to register. Perhaps he had never gone. Hardly any commoners could afford going to school, so their parents just taught them at home. All the boys she had met in the past were of higher rank, or even nobility, and they all went to grammar school. All of her fathers’ friends had gone to college at some point. But James for sure had never had a proper education, that she was positive.

She didn’t know what to say, so instead she corrected him saying, “Remember, not just ‘member.’” Her voice sounded weak, and James picked up on this, so he quickly pushed the spotlight away from himself.

“Do you go to school, miss?” he asked pleasantly, and Mary shook her head in response to the question with an air of pride.

“Of course not! Father hired me a private tutor. If you even know what that is.” She realized how snide her voice was getting, but she had no power to control it. She felt like she should get her point across—that she was his superior, no matter how mature he was, drinking his tea plain. (She’d only known grown men of high status to do this, and James had rather suddenly caught her off guard.)

“I know what that is,” he replied cheerfully. “A very smart man, usually a scholar, comes over and teaches you above average things. You’re very lucky.”

“Yes,” Mary said, and there was a hint of surprise in her voice. “I suppose I am.”

“You’re so smart, madam, I’m quite jealous.” But he’d said it so chirpily—so innocently—that it was hard to believe that he could have any such negative emotion in his heart. “You sit there with your books all day, and you seem so happy. I would love to be able to do that, or at least boast about it.” He laughed, such a melodic sound that Mary couldn’t help but stare at him good and long. Never had she received such a comment before. No one had ever said she was ‘happy’ in her life.

“U-um…well…can you not read then, James?” she stuttered, and he smiled at her.

“No, I can. But not well at all. I’m terrible with big words. I get so confused.” Mary’s eyes widened with further shock. James could read?! How was that possible? He looked so much like a commoner when they’d found him, and he talked like one too. Sure, he had the manners of a noble, but manners weren’t too hard to pick up these days. But if the boy could read…he was a higher level than she expected! Although literacy rates were rising, hardly any commoners could read at all in Boston. James could not have been a peasant. He was of a higher level.

Mary could not, hard as she tried, piece his past together. If he was a noble’s son, truly, then why would he have been wearing dirty, torn up clothes and be laying half-dead in an alleyway? It made no sense.

She bit her tongue to refrain from asking “how?” She knew he wouldn’t know, and the topic would only bring down his mood. Instead she pointed at him with her fork.

“Eat your cake before the icing melts,” she ordered, knowing the command was quite childish. James clearly didn’t care as he scooped up a rather large chunk and shoved it in his mouth. His cheeks full, he beamed at her.

“Delishush!” he slurred through the cake, and crumbs came flying out of his mouth and onto his plate. The taste was so sweet he felt like he could fly off to heaven. The best picked strawberries and the most wonderful baker definitely made the best combo the world had ever tasted.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Mary said dryly, wondering why on Earth she had recommended the cake to him. Maybe he wasn’t a noble after all…

xXx

“Father?”

Mary shut the door quietly behind her and looked around her father’s study. The walls were painted a dark red, and there were books and sheets of paper everywhere. The room was dimly illuminated by lit candles strategically placed around the room. The floor was made of solid oak wood and the room had that musty, old book smell that Mary adored. Though her visits to the study were rare, she’d always enjoyed that feeling of coming in, her nose catching the scent of yellowing paper and melting wax.

Lord Johnson looked up. His spectacles were resting on top of his broad nose. He only used them when he was working intensely.

“What is it, Mary?” he asked. His voice was neutral but somehow it came across to the dark-haired girl that he was bothered by his presence.

“Um…well…” She had been taught not to stutter, so she wasn’t the least bit surprised when Lord Johnson sent her a warning glare. “Father, it’s about James.”

“James?” He looked confused.

“Yes. James Smith, our new gardener,” she informed him. It had not been the first time she told him but she tried not to show her irritation.

“Ah, so is that what you named him? Charming.” He appeared to have forgotten that their deceased gardener’s name had also been James Smith. But her father was so busy that such facts easily slipped his mind.

“Could you perhaps send him to school, Father?” she asked, finally approaching him and coming into the brighter light coming from his desk. He turned to face her, sliding in his chair.

“Send him to school?” He was surprised by her request, but she kept her voice steady.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “You said we are to take care of him as a child, but when he grows up he will be forced to leave. Wouldn’t it be easier for him to find a job and make a living for himself if he’d had the proper education?”

Lord Johnson nodded, but he looked doubtful.

“Would he be fit to go into his age level? There’s a chance he might be terribly behind the rest of his class,” he stated. Mary nodded to show that she had considered that already.

“He can already read, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “How do you know that?”

She refused to blush. But sometimes refusing just isn’t enough. “He told me,” she answered sullenly, and Lord Johnson chuckled. She hated when he did that.

“Ah, I see,” he commented. “I will get him enrolled right away.” Mary thanked him and left the room, and he continued right on laughing. For, if anyone knew when Mary was starting to open up to someone, it was her father.

This story is pretty cutesie-pie, you see. Well, for the time being, at least. I love writing from children’s perspective, especially children like James! Everything’s so new and amazing! I miss the freedom of infanthood, even though I’m only in high school. Jeez.

Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this new addition! I’ll update sometime, someday, somewhere…

Read and review!

’Cause I love it when you do!