Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
The racket of city life tore me from sleep. Cart wheels rattled over stones, vendors shouted their wares, gulls shrieked above the harbor, and all of it carried on the tang of salt, tar, and the stench of rotting fish.
I lay there for a long moment, staring at the cracked ceiling, letting the reality of it all sink in. No rolling vineyards. No Chloe, gently waking me with a hot cup of tea or any quiet halls where every step echoed.
Definitely no men carefully watching me with hungry eyes, binding me with secret touches I couldn't forget.
Just me and this cramped room.
I pressed my palms to my face, trying to steady the ache that gnawed at me. Homesick.
Homesick for a home that hadn't even been mine yet. How foolish was I? And yet, wasn't that always my way. To believe in dreams and ideals, only to watch them crumble into dust.
Enough.
Today wasn't for mourning. Today was for survival.
I washed as best I could with the chilly water, smoothed down my gown, and forced myself out the door.
The city pressed close on every side. Stalls spilled over the vegetables, bolts of cloth, copper pots that glinted in the light.
Children darted past, laughing, while women haggled fiercely with butchers.
I longed to linger at a bookshop window where books were lined up on shelves, or to slip inside a café rich with the smell of tea and fresh pastries.
But I kept walking. My very-close-to-empty coin purse spurred me on.
Work. That was all that mattered.
I had skills. Many of them. Granted, most of them didn't translate to city living but there had to be something out there for me to do.
There wasn't.
The seamstress I approached shook her head almost the second I opened my mouth. Her pinched face and scowling eyes told me exactly what she thought of me—a single woman, dressed the way I was—and quickly sent me away before I could scare away any of her customers.
The bakery was even worse. The flour-dusted man behind the counter looked me over too slowly before saying he might find a place for me if I was willing to pay in ways that turned my stomach.
I left before he could finish his thought.
The hotel clerk smiled, promised to give my name to the manager and even went so far as to ask me where I could be found.
By midday, my feet ached, my skirts were practically ruined from the muddy streets, and the hollow ache inside me had deepened.
Hunger clawed at my belly. What if I didn't find anything?
What if I had thrown everything away for the sake of saving myself from their secrets, only to be swallowed whole by this god-forsaken city?
And through it all I kept wondering about Leighton and Magnus's reaction to my running away. Did they even care, or would Leighton merely find himself another orphan from the country to corrupt? One who fell into their plans without fighting them.
Even the thought of another woman with them, with my men, turned my stomach even further, and my hunger vanished.
I couldn't think of that. Of them. I had to focus on myself and my future.
I pushed on. One step. Then another.
It was getting late, dusk slowly settling on the city when I saw it.
A swinging sign above a narrow doorway, paint peeling but legible. The Seafarer's Rest. The tavern looked rough around the edges, the kind of place I would normally avoid. But a scrap of paper stuck to the door caught my eye.
Help Wanted.
I stared at it, heart pounding. My pride balked. A tavern maid? To spend nights serving men, letting their eyes—and probably hands—wander.
But my aching feet, empty belly and broken heart spurred me on.
Pride be damned.
It was work.
I drew in a steadying breath, squared my shoulders, and pushed open the door.
It smelled of stale ale and that constant stench of rotten fish. A few men already hunched over their drinks, despite the hour, their laughter low and rough. My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to the bar.
Behind it stood a broad-shouldered man with arms like tree trunks, wiping down a mug. His gaze swept over me in a way that made my skin prickle. "Help you?"
Before I could gather the courage to speak, a door to the back swung open, and a woman bustled out carrying a tray of bread. Her hair was streaked with gray, her dress plain, her eyes sharp. But there was a kindness to them. One that gave me hope.
"Tom," she scolded in a sharp British accent, setting a tray down with a thump. "Don't you just glare at the girl. Can't you see she's practically shaking in her boots?"
I swallowed, my throat dry. "I saw the notice outside," I said, voice wavering despite my attempt at faked bravado. "I need work."
The woman looked me over, her eyes narrowing not in suspicion but in thought. "Any experience?"
I could lie. I should have lied.
I didn't. "No, ma'am."
Tom snorted. "She'll not last a night, love."
"Tom," the woman said sharply, smacking his arm with a rag.
"When you first met me, I didn't look like much either.
She's clearly no tavern wench, but she's neat, polite, and might be just what I need in the kitchen with me.
" She turned to me. "I'm Bess, this old coot's wife.
You've got two hands and a back that can bend, don't you? "
I tried hard to push down the budding hope so as not to get too excited. "Yes, ma'am. Grew up on a farm, and am no stranger to hard work."
"Good. We can use that. You'll start in the kitchen with me, cleaning and learning the ropes in there. I'll keep you in there until we feel you're ready for more. If you'd like, you could sleep upstairs with the other girls, at no extra cost."
Relief crashed over me so suddenly my knees almost buckled. "Thank you. Thank you so much ma'am."
Bess's mouth softened, though she kept her tone brisk.
"Don't thank me yet. Work's hard. Hours are long, and the pay's not much.
And as you'll be in the back with me, you won't be getting anything extra from the patrons to tide you over either.
But it's honest. And better under my eye than in the street. You look like a lost lamb."
I flushed, both at her pity and her perceptiveness. She wasn't wrong.
Tom muttered something about having another mouth to feed, but Bess waved him off. She slid a bowl of stew toward me, steaming and fragrant. "Here. Eat this. And tomorrow is as good a day to start as any. Do you have a place to stay tonight?"
I nodded. "I've paid for my room through the week." I wrapped my hands around the warm bowl, the simple kindness undoing me more than I'd expected.
"Good. If it's decent, I'd suggest you stay there for the time being before being forced to share a room with a bunch of nosy imps that will be all up in your business.
And listen to Bess now, dear. You don't have to share anything with them you don't want to, but they're a good lot. A family of sorts."
I smiled before taking a big bite of the flavorful stew. "Thank you, Bess. I was very close to done in, and you've given me fresh hope."
Now I just needed to stop thinking about the men I'd left behind and start focusing on the future I could build for myself.