Chapter Twelve - Lessons in Survival #3
Rosamund looked around the empty room before looking back at the princess who serenely sipped her tea.
Elswyth was offering a lifeline. A way out of this sea that she was drowning in.
Not only that, if what she was saying was true, she was offering to guide her once she was out of the waters.
This was the very thing she had wanted. She needed someone like Elswyth to help her.
Otherwise, what would happen to her? At best, she would live in solitary confinement in Blackthorn Hall for the rest of her days.
At worst, she would be deemed too much of a pariah for Dorian to marry and be cast off.
At the very worst, it could mean the death of her brothers.
“Can we not say ‘pleaded’ instead of ‘begged’,” she asked weakly.
Elswyth smiled and reached forward to squeeze her knee, “Absolutely, you can decide on the wording and details, I’ll make sure it’s relayed.”
“And will you?” asked Rosamund quietly.
“Will I what?” asked Elswyth confused.
“Will…will you teach me how to survive this court?” said Rosamund, raising her head to look her in the eye.
Elswyth grinned at her over the top of her teacup, “Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”
Rosamund laughed and smiled, “Thank you.”
“I suggest we meet like this every couple of days,” said Elswyth placing her own cup down and leaning forward to refill Rosamund’s, “there is a wonderful tailor in the Velvet Tide that has been dying to get his hands on some dressmaking. He could be a potential candidate for your personal dressmaker. The others wouldn’t touch him, and he won’t fear them. ”
Her eyes were welling up again, and she quickly raised her hand up to wipe it away.
Don’t let them see you cry, that’s what Elswyth had told her. Right from the beginning.
However, she was not quick enough. Elswyth reached forward to take Rosamund’s hand in hers, “No, let them fall here. When you’re alone.
Scream, yell, fight and cry when you’re alone.
Or when you’re with me. But keep it all inside when you’re with them.
Never let them see the cracks, because once they see them, they won’t stop until they’ve broken you. ”
“Did they do that to you?” Rosamund asked, letting the tears fall.
“They tried,” said Elswyth and gave her hand a squeeze.
Rosamund gave her a watery laugh and looked down at their clasped hands. The gauze sleeve of Elswyth’s dress had fallen back to the crook of her arm revealing angry mauve marks on her under arm and wrists. Rosamund frowned, but as she leaned forward to examine it Elswyth quickly lowered the sleeve.
“Are you okay-” she started to ask.
“Yes, fine,” said Elswyth quickly, a flush rising to her cheeks, “I was a little overzealous with my riding the other day and fell off.”
Rosamund was unconvinced. This didn’t look like bruises from a fall, the small rounded shaped looked like where someone had gripped her arm. Hard. Elswyth let go of her hand, fixing her sleeves in place and said, “So I can teach you a lot, but not how to ride.”
Rosamund did not laugh. However, it was obvious that Elswyth did not want to talk about it. The woman was doing so much for her, she did not want to force her. And what if she was wrong? If she made such an implication, would that not insult Elswyth?
But what if she’s in danger…
“Now, about the servants,” said Elswyth with forced cheeriness, “we do not thank them.”
“What?” said Rosamund, snapped from her internal musings, “That’s ridiculous.”
“I know,” conceded Elswyth, “but it’s the way things are done, so you’re going to have to fight back that instinct.”
The rest of the afternoon continued in the same way.
Elswyth would tell her about some other ridiculous societal rule, Rosamund would scoff, and Elswyth would agree, then explain why everyone else thought it was important.
By the end of the afternoon her head was swimming, but she had been pleased for the time with the other woman.
It reminded her of the afternoons that she would spend with her aunts, reading and conversing.
Comfortable and warm. Safe. The time had flown by in the end and soon enough a servant had interrupted them to inform them that Tomas was waiting with the carriage.
Elswyth had walked her to the front door.
“Don’t hesitate to send round a calling card if you need to meet again before our next arranged date,” said Elswyth, “and maybe get some calling cards. Make sure they’re-.”
“In Dorian’s colours,” said Rosamund with feigned annoyance.
“Exactly,” said Elswyth with a pleased smile.
The older woman leaned in and kissed Rosamund’s cheek, “Stay strong, you can do this.”
“Thank you,” said Rosamund softly as she pulled away, “for all of this.”
She climbed into the carriage and waved at the woman until they pulled out onto the street.
Night was closing in and sitting back in the carriage Rosamund took in the colours of the Velvet Tide again.
Something had changed in the darkness. Those bright lights that had seemed so warm and welcoming were now seedy and painfully bright.
The perfumes that wafted from shop doors caused her to cough, and the laughter from the street had a harshness to it that wasn’t there in the daylight.
When she looked out the carriage window, she saw the people indulging in whatever pleasure they could get their hands on; wine, gambling, and sex.
The carriage rolled past one of the gambling houses that was lit with the same mauve colour that she had seen on Elswyth’s arms. A young woman ran out the front door, barely dressed, fleeing the man that pursued her.
She was not quick enough. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet.
The woman laughed, but Rosamund could see a nervousness in her eyes.
She struggled but the man held her tightly.
It was his laughter that gave him away. That same mocking bark that she had heard that day in the square.
Bastian.
As the carriage continued, she saw him drag the woman back into the building, kissing her neck as she continued to struggle against his grip. Before she knew what she was doing she had knocked the roof of the carriage.
“Everything alright my lady?” called out Tomas as he slowed the horses.
What could she do? The building was obviously part brothel; she could see that now.
Plenty of women made good money in that trade.
But the girl had looked so young, so scared.
She had wanted to do something, but what could she do?
If she intervened would Bastian become more violent?
Perhaps he would take it out on the girl as he had clearly taken his frustrations out on his wife.
If she intervened, he would. What could she do?
He was a prince. She was nothing.
For now…
She swallowed the vomit that was rising in her throat and called out to Tomas, “Quicker please, I want to go home.”
Home?