Rat Catchers

Equations

Chapter Text

Rose lay in bed, her chin resting on her hands, her blanket stretched over the bedhead and the pillow strategically placed near her feet, making a passable tent.

Charlie had tried to come in but she had hissed gypsy curses and he'd shrunk away.

Her little brother only knew English, because he'd lived all his life in a big, fancy house and spent all his time with Frances. The other language frightened him, probably because it frightened Frances, too. It was a great way to rid herself of him at any rate.

She could hear Charlie clomping up the stairs now, full of breakfast and looking for his toy horses.

Rose sighed, then sighed again, trying to sound like an old woman, wise to the ways of the world and its injustices.

She had nearly made her mind up that it had been worth it; the bonfire had been enormous. The biggest she'd seen, and she'd seen her fair share.

There had indeed been firecrackers, not quite a crateful, admittedly, but enough to bang up a racket and completely undo Archie Parsons, who'd been to war with her da and uncles and was always just a bit too pissed to walk straight. Archie Parsons had run for the cut and – so she'd heard on the walk home – nearly made it across when he jumped.

Yes, the hiding had hurt, was hurting still, as a matter of fact, but it hadn't been the worst in living memory.

There would have been no question of whether going to the bonfire had been the right course of action, if Polly hadn't been so very right: her father had been beside himself. Completely.

Rose had been late before, she'd been late many, many times, and once she'd run away just after Charlie was born; and while her father had whacked her for the latter incident, he'd never belted her for being out too late before.

Nor had he looked as though he'd seen a ghost any of these other times.

And she'd certainly never seen him so shaken that he'd had to sit down.

"Rosie..."

"Fuck off, Charles," she growled, then froze for a second, uncertain whether or not Frances or a similar threat were within earshot.

Charlie resignedly scrabbled around the room for a minute or two and then trudged back downstairs. Bonnie Prince Charlie hadn't been out at all since they'd arrived.

The top step creaked and Rose listened to heavy feet making their way across the room.

"Anyone home?" Her Uncle Arthur knocked on the bedhead.

"We've got nothin' to give," Rose growled.

Arthur pulled the blanket off anyhow.

"Shove over," he said gruffly.

Rose rolled her eyes, but moved, wincing pointedly as she attempted to sit and ended up propped up on her side, as her uncle sat down, the length of his legs matching that of her bed. He dug into his pocket and produced a couple of battered Black Jacks.

"You nearly knocked me block off," Rose said accusingly.

"Ah," her uncle grunted dismissively. "You got off easy."

He placed one Black Jack on the mattress in front of Rose and began to unwrap the other.

"Did not," Rose muttered, reaching for the sweet.

Arthur closed his eyes, leaned the back on his head on the wall and chewed slowly. He seemed infinitely tired.

"And-" Rose said through a mouthful of aniseed, "you gave him your belt."