Chapter 20 #3
Tears welled in the woman’s eyes, and she snatched up the child, stroking the bald head as she listened.
Ellen quietly laid out her two choices: to gather every last second she could with the child, to horde every heartbeat and enjoy it while she could, or to find a sympathetic midwife with morphine and help her child go gently to sleep, ending the pain.
“This option is illegal,” Ellen warned. “If you are caught, you could hang.” It was one of the worst choices to ever give a parent.
Ellen hated herself for giving the mother a terrible choice, but she’d hate herself more for not speaking up.
“What type of mother am I if I have a way to end my child’s suffering and don’t?” The woman asked as tears streamed down her face.
Ellen dropped sugar water in the baby’s mouth to take his mind from the pain, whispered consolations to the mother, and left her with a location and a coded message to use.
She waited until she was outside to duck into an alleyway and vomit.
Her stomach lurched, trying to jump out of her throat.
Ellen leaned her forehead against the brick wall and gasped for breath, wiping the acidic taste away with the back of her hand.
I can’t do this. Ellen had that thought at least once a year, after particularly bad days.
But it had lessened remarkably since Mark had reentered her life.
She let the rain trickle down her face, wetting her clothes, as she imagined their evenings in his study, by the fire.
How he would play with a curl of her hair while reading.
How she would touch the back of his neck as she walked by him for no reason at all.
How he would always ask about her day and get her tea and massage her hands or feet.
She hadn’t realized what a toll this job took on her, how close she was to fizzling out, until someone had come alongside and supported her.
Why did I get used to him? I was doing fine on my own!
And now he barges into my life and makes me depend on him and trust him and how am I supposed to do this work now?
Ellen choked back a sob, thinking of the tiny life inside the brothel.
That could happen to anyone. Anyone. How could she bear it if it happened to her?
And where would Mark be, Oxford? She scrubbed the tears and rain from her face and turned.
Rain had drenched her cloak, and muddy rainwater filled her shoes. Shivering in the cold, Ellen stepped through a mud puddle that splashed up her stockings. The dispensary. Just get to the dispensary and it will be dry and warm and safe.
Ellen stumbled up the Covent alleys, heading north through Seven Dials. Rain and tears blinded her vision. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to focus on anything besides the driving spikes of rain and the breaking of her heart.
Wind gusted down a passageway, causing the dilapidated buildings to creak and moan.
She ducked under a crooked awning to catch her breath and eyed the sheets of rain, hugging herself.
At this rate, it felt like the deluge would rival Noah’s flood.
A door creaked open behind her, and a wave of obnoxiously drunk laughter spilled outside.
Ellen stepped to the side to avoid whoever was coming out. Drunk, they bumped into her anyway.
The foul body odor of a professional drunkard hit her nostrils as the huge body knocked into her. Ellen curled into herself, stepping nearly out into the rain to get away.
“You.” The slurred voice sounded familiar.
Ellen didn’t look, hunching her shoulders more. If I don’t acknowledge him, maybe he’ll leave me alone. She’d told Mrs. Finley the neighborhood surrounding the dispensary wasn’t crime-ridden. She just needed to get back to it.
A rough hand grabbed her shoulder. “Look at me.”
Heart pounding, Ellen glanced up to see the bleary, angry face of Seamus O’Malley. Her stomach dropped into her wet boots. “Pardon me.” She stepped out into the rain, but his hand gripped her harder and dragged her back into him. Her wet back hit his ale-soaked front.
“No, we're going to talk.”
Alarm spiked through her body, fear tingling down her spine. “No, thank you.” She firmly extricated herself, but he reached out and grabbed her again.
“I’ve been watching you, the lady toff who comes down here and ruins honest men’s lives.”
Ellen’s jaw dropped in outrage. “You arsehole. You are completely at fault for everything bad that’s happened in your life. Now let me go!”
She jerked away, but he caught her fast. O’Malley twisted her arms behind her, just like Mark had done to him.
A whimper escaped her clenched jaw as pain radiated up her arm. “What are you doing?”
“Teaching you a lesson.” O’Malley’s breath was thick and foul with beer as he leaned in. “Lady toffs don’t belong down here in the rookeries. My life was fine before you gave Tina all sorts of ideas. So I’m going to take care of you.”
Fear petrified her, locking her knees when he tried to yank her down the alley. It didn’t stop him, though, he just dragged her through the mud.
“Help!” Ellen screamed, but no one could hear over the pounding noise of the rain.