Wendy stirred into consciousness and frowned, searching for the rich brocade curtains that she had been peeping through, watching and waiting for him. Absent-mindedly she slid her fingers through her unruly curls, thinking of the fine salons where those curls had been cut in the past. Pulling the few coppers left to her, in her purse, she wondered whether to risk a pudding basin cut from the old witch who seemed to run the inn.
"Would my friend tolerate such abuse of my locks though? My former lover would - but I don't give a damn for him anymore" she sneered, as she gathered loose strands of hair in her hand, before tying them back with a thin cord of leather.
Perhaps she shouldn't for her friend might be upset. Should she err on the side of discretion then and have the irritation of these overlong curls sliding into her eyes a while longer? Smiling to herself, she imagined the next occasion when he might come to run his hand through her fine locks. She shivered, certain that she would not wish to deprive herself of his hand and glancing around the room once again.
"But I had to come here. That rotten man has deprived himself........for my own good, " she rationalised, wondering as an afterthought: "Do I ever learn what is really good though?"
She tried to take in her surroundings and realised that she was seeking answers that flew from her half-awake mind. They seemed to race away from her grasp to the corners of this rather dubious inn, before she had a chance to catch one of them. She tipped her head and wondered how she would entertain herself, in this rather lonely solitude, away from her friend's chateau.
It was a sad state of affairs, but one that left her shrugging her shoulders accepting life and accepting her need for human contact and discourse. Wendy could watch and listen, but sometimes this was simply not enough though, even where there was understanding and creativity in contemplation.
Through the heavy wooden shutters, she could hear the sounds of the morning rumbling on outside the inn, waggoners carting their loads, wrestling with straining ponies and cursing in the fresh morning, their furor lost on the sea breeze. She turned and laughed at the sound of these happenings, suddenly eager to be out there and at one with the world, instead of trapped in this stinking room. She stepped gingerly onto the creaking wooden floorboards, padding her way over to the door and lifting the bar that had gone someway to ensuring her privacy on the previous evening.
She looked out into the dark corridor and stared up at the shelf opposite her door, seeing a goldfish bowl sitting there and two rather forlorn fish, swimming endlessly round, condemned by nature to forget the last sight that they had even as the new visions of their world flooded into their heads. She felt that she mirrored their captivity and stood awhile, the door ajar, gazing at the hapless fish.
"I have done my duty. Now," she thought and hesitated, before adding out loud. "Wendy needs a man - no - a gentleman."
Her thoughts were disturbed by a sharp cough and she started. She stepped forward into the corridor slowly and turning her head unsure to gaze up at a well dressed man in the shadows. He smiled a brilliant smile. Tentatively, she responded and watched the teasing grin on his face turn to a raucous, almost threatening laugh as, suddenly he turned and walked away down the corridor, leaving her nothing to do but turn and walk back into the her room, as he disappeared phantasmagorically into the shadows and into her imagination.
"What an unpleasant man," she thought.
And that only made her think of her lover and smile to herself as, unseen and unheard, the stranger returned to wait silently in the corridor. He stood there, watching and thinking of the thin laughter of his dissipated companions of the night before at the way they had treated those girls. Who'd have thought she would scream like that though at the end. He gazed at the door, tempted by it being carelessly ajar.
She moved to the bed and grabbed her travel bag. She opened it and pulled out a clean dress. Slowly, she slid her fingers over the softness of the velvet, picking it up and pressing it to her face to smell it.
Her eyes closed as she shook her head and pulled out a pair of soft, worn shoes. Deeply conscious of her scruffy attire, she did not listen to hear the stranger move to a better vantage, crouching in the dark smoky corridor, gazing attentively. She moved to the door and sought to shut it softly. He would not be left to turn in the shadows though, not him - a constable. No, he would reassert himself over this unguarded stranger and press a hand against the closing door, holding it open a fraction, for his glistening watery eyes to observe her.
She slipped across to the bed and removed the thin gown, baring her shoulders and her back. A lecherous eye followed the sweeping curves down to the revelation of the cleft of her buttocks. A tongue wandered across his thick lips as she bend over to pick up the dress, revealing the full plum of her behind to his lascivious and voyeuristic gaze. He sighed disappointedly as she slipped it on, smoothing the crushed velvet over her hips. He was pleased to catch a glimpse of calf as she lifted first one foot to slips on her shoe and then the other.
She paced hurriedly around the room, gathering her belongings, before slipping them into her bag. She grabbed a thin shift and slid it into her bag. Standing looking out the window, her mind wandered in a misty daze of recollection before pondering the uncertainty of future paths.
Finally, she picked up her bag, deciding that a stable would be more sanitary than this room - an appropriate thought at that time of year. She slipped from the room moving down the stairs. The reek of stained sheets, pursued her and bearing out the truth of her words.
"I will sleep in the grass if I must, rather than stay here a moment longer," she almost shouted at the crone standing in the stairwell.
The elderly woman's hands were raised as if for a tip and she tried to capture her guest's glance. The crone looked quickly away, trembling at the steely determination in the bright glare that met her begging gaze. Wendy brushed past her:
"The voyeur will settle the bill with you," she murmured nodding to innkeeper bent low over the tables, looking at anything other than this dark thing, as the crone murmured her thanks. She nodded tokenistically in acknowledgment of her response and slipped out into the morning sun. Lifting her face to the bright glare, she grinned for the first time in days.
It was always sunny in the morning in the harbour town, even in the dying days of December, once the rays broke through the morning mists. She wandered down the path, unsure of where she was going, but knowing that she must move on. Carriages and carts rolled past her in every direction and the rich aroma of coffee called her from the other side of the square. Her eyes darted around, like anxious travellers, taking in the hustle and bustle of the town. Her stomach rumbled but she ignored it along with the alluring smell of bagels and baking croissants wafts from a bakery. She had no gold with which to eat.
A surly young boy stared at her munching on a large piece of bread, stuffed with chocolate. She gazed blankly at the chilled and moved on, before having to watch any more of those flakes of precious chocolate tumble to the ground. Chickens roast in the many delicatessens along the street, turning slowly in a basting heat. She smiled broadly when she sees a mallard duck cooking amongst them, giggling and *winking* at the cook, thinking of the wretched ducks that plagued her picnics by the Chateau through the summer.
"Very good Sir" she laughed. "Very good indeed."
The cook, enchanted by her laugh, passed her a leg of chicken, warm, glistening and tasty. She thanked him with a curtsy as she bit into the tasty juice flesh. He smiled back and prodded the duck meanly as she chewed slowly, savouring each bite, She walked on down the gentle hill to the dockside, nibbling on the meat, intending now to watch the comings and goings and the busy ferryings around the port. She sat on a grass knoll across from the quayside, taking in the harbour.
A seagull perched on a bollard near her and eyed her provender beadily, until she responded with a malevolent stare at the beast. It stepped from foot to foot looking uneasy, until she relented and pulled off a piece of meat to toss to the bird. It flew up to catch it and then rose into the air, flapping slowly over the harbour, its wings casting a little shadow over the water. She watched the receding creature until it was out of site, wiping her fingers in the grass. She was feeling a little sick after devouring the glutinous meat and was standing shakily, when a dark shadow appeared over her. She jumped, stumbling back.
"Have you no respect, young lady?"
"I-I ......what?"
"Casting scraps for the vermin to catch," the voyeur chided her, assiduously.
"I did not mean any harm," she bowed her head and blushed as a rat scuttles off with her discarded bone proving the point. He frowned and she pressed her hand to her stomach, feeling more queasy.
"I will be on my way," she backed away slowly, beginning now to recognise him, as he stepped towards her. she was about to turn to run when he reached out and took her arm in a firm grip. She whimpered at his bruising hold and tried to struggle.
"The authorities will hear of your petty misdemeanours, you hussy," he hissed in her ear.
"No please," she protested.
"There are rules here, my dear Wendy."
She shuddered at his use of her name and exhaled in short gasps as the click of metal restrained her wrists, her head spinning, feeling the bile slide up her throat. She sucked in slow gasping breaths to calm her fears.
"You wanted........I believe........a man - no, a gentleman," he taunted, looking at her wide eyes, already planning how to abuse her. He took her arm but led her not to the town guard house, but to a shady alley. She stared at him, eyes wide as he looked at her meaningfully, jangling his keys, full of machismo. She stayed silent and he made a decision, pulling the shaking woman roughly further down the alleyway.
"Ugghhhh," she groaned as she stumbled. "Please........ please.........pl...
He watched her fall to her knees and reached down to touch her hair. He took a knot of it into a firm grip, watching as tears slid down her cheeks. She could feel the bruises forming on her knees as he pulled her inexorably towards him. She gritted her teeth, when he looked down at her again, pulling roughly at the velvet, popping the top buttons of her gown to expose her cleavage.
"Don't touch me," she gasped and his fat fingers paused on her lips. She tried to escape from their greasy ambiance by turning her face, shaking hard, all the time.
"There is a whipping post by the dock," he informed her meaningfully, pulling her chin viciously so she was staring up into his again.
"Then whip me," she screamed, closing her eyes. "I care not.........."
"Do you really not understand me?" he barked back. "Gentlemen have needs, young lady."
"I care not," she reiterated, tears sliding freely down her cheeks as he tried to insinuate himself into her clothing.
"And the water fowl will gather to watch you."
Her head dropped at this asinine remark.
"They will watch this flogger slide over your naked back," he advised her, pulling a thick handled leather tool from his belt.
"Such a lovely unmarked back," he seemed to muse to himself. She cringed, thinking how this misnomered gentleman must have watched her dress. He rubbed the handle against her cheek and she tried to jerk away. His grip on her hair precluded her from pulling away, far and she looked up at him bitterly.
"Sir.....If you are to beat me then do so!" She glared at him through her tears.
"There is another way, my weary-dearie," he whispered malevolently. "Another way for the dear to be smeared....."
"No!"
"You would differ?" he snarled and pulled her face up close to his, showering her with nauseous saliva.
"THEN BEG," he yelled into her face.
"Uhhhhhhh," she flinched, but he crouched down to look her full in the face. Her eyes met his defiantly as he slid his hand into the shadows between her limbs. She closed her and clenched her teeth as his thumbs play over her treasures, hovering and not quite daring to touch or trespass........for, as he knelt she had kicked him hard where it counted.
He groaned and breathed slowly. Her lids flickered as she eyed him warily. He staggered back and walked away, propping himself up against the alleyway as he wanders, clutching in a daze, knowing that his reckless assault is over.
She sat in the alley, hands still cuffed, watching him, rising slowly, her back pressed against a wall to her shaky legs. She pulled her wrists apart and observed that the chain on the cuffs was thick steel. She decided to go back towards the harbour, to gather her bag and her few possessions. A few minutes later despair washed over her for her belongings are gone, taken by a sneak thief.
Bewildered by the quick downturn of her fortunes, she staggered down another alleyway where the dark houses seemed to cluster together menacingly. The cobbles were dank and there was a thick stench rising from the open sewer. Lost eventually, she wandered, dodging as best she can the slops, emptied from chamber pots from the upper windows of the high tiered houses.
The detritus occasionally splashes her only remaining garments, joined by the splash of a rain that will wash it away. Exhausted and bound, she fell to her knees again, pressing her face to a dirty wall, curling up her cuffed hands. The cuffs scraped the cobbled surface and the splashes of winter rain are joined by fresh tears as the clouds gathered to share her miseries.
Resting her head against the wall, she felt the rain soak through the fine velvet, shoulders trembling, teeth chattering. Windows slammed above and water dripped from the eaves as the first drops took on a steady beat. She moaned at the pain in her throbbing knees. There is a progressive escalation of dull pain married to the steady drumming on the roofs and the alleyway.
"Perhaps I shall drown in this filthy alley," she whispered to herself, laughing at her own folly and curling tighter to the wall in near foetal state. The rain cleanses yet paradoxically brings fresh misery and then....there is another sound...it breaks into the silence of people having left the streets to the downpour and to her loneliness...the sound of steady hooves trotting towards her. Were she to look up she would have seen a figure caped in dark garments, the water streaming off a tricorn hat?
"Please...no," she cringed, envisaging the constable returned to assault her, now that she is completely alone in the wetness, soaked to the skin. Her lips were light blue with the cold. Silence ensued, broken only by the steady trickle of water in the gutters and through her hair, as the horse was stilled at her side. Afraid, she refused to look up, even as the horse snuffled loudly, almost drowning out the gentle murmur:
"Milady."
Her eyes closed tight, a voice echoed in her head as thoughts echoed in his. Savouring the droplets of water sliding down her face and enthralled by the personage in the so unsuitable damp crushed velvet gown, he sat mute, his mind deafened by the beating of his heart. Could this really be she, so changed and yet so unchanging? So subtle and so self-obsessed or obsessed by a control that she craved?
"Friend."
"Oh no," she exclaimed nervously, shaking her head.
"Come Milady," he encouraged as she looked up slowly to the smile that greet her and the thickset shoulders that would hold her in their embrace
"Is that really you, friend?" she blinked.
He beckoned her, reaching his hand down to her. Slowly she rose and displayed her arms out in front of her showing him the cuffs. A palm closed around them. She shook as his hands crushed the strong metal, breaking the chains that bound her hands together and twisting her wrists painlessly free. Rubbing her wrists, she struggled a little but soon found herself being pulled towards him.
"D-dear friend," she protested weakly as an arm wrapping round her waist. "Look at me...I am dirty-wet."
He ignored her and lifted her up into the saddle in front of him, his fur lined cloak warming her shoulders. She curled up against him, wrapping her arms around his waist, his silk shirt absorbing her wetness, until she could she could see the flesh under his clothing. She pressed her face into his neck as his cape encompassed her.
"I want to go home," she whispered in barely audible tones. " Please, friend, I want to go home."
The horse stirred at her voice and began to move forward out of the alleyway into the square in front of the dock. She held on tight to his waist, gripping him tightly, when, through the rain, she could behold a figure bent double against the whipping post in the rain, red lashes streaking his back even as the lightning streaks through the skies, a smart gentleman's tailored shirt discarded in a muddied heap by his side. Her face turned from the sigh and her fingers tightened, digging into his silk shirt.
"Home, I want to go home," she reprised insistently, as one of his arms wrapped tightly around her. She tilted her neck upwards and kissed his neck affectionately. The horse trotted slowly up the hill, past the shuttered shops, past the chicken cook, his spits cooling in the rain. She inhaled deeply, taking in his aroma, so wonderful, when mixed with the smell of roasting coffee. They passed the inn and headed up the highway leaving the last houses far behind, onto the open road.
He pressed a draft of wine to her lips that she sipped dutifully. He drew the hood of the cloak over her bedraggled head. She stared up into the mountains that border the county, staring at the grey walls through a mist, her heart pounding. They passed the dead orchards whipped by the winter rains, past the lake, where droplets play over the waters. Pete, the fisherman, ever present, waved to them as if nothing had happened. She waved to him, laughing softly at his cussing as his boat rocked in the water.
"I have missed him," she sighed wistfully, glancing over at the lake.
"As I thee," he responded, slowing as he felt the rains easing and a fresh breeze blowing the ozone smell of fresh rain from the wet path in an overpowering waft.
"Oooh! It's beautiful," she laughed, watching as the sun reappeared through the clouds to shine weakly onto the lake. she wriggled and he pressed himself against her, laying her head on his chest again. She smiled and the winter sun broke through at that smile, bursting upon them like an augury of good fortune.
"Oh, I must look a fright," she groaned.
He said nothing but let the reins fall from his hands to hold her firmly, turning her in the saddle to face him fully. She stared up into his gleaming eyes as he leant down to kiss her brow and run his hands through her damp uncut hair...
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