Rooted by Emma Golding

Author:Emma Golding [Golding, Emma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-06-24T00:00:00+00:00

22

WHEN HE VISITED her on Christmas, he touched her tender cheek and vowed never to lose his temper again.

Every Sunday afternoon after, he trekked from Rotherhithe to Southwark to see her. He brought her gifts, took her to bearbaitings and plays, told her how he missed her.

Every Sunday evening, as he walked her home from wherever they had been, he pulled her into an alley and kissed her. He was so in love with her, he said. He could not bear to be parted from her. He needed her to take him in her arms, or he would perish. The incident with the goat shed, Ellen’s tonic, and the nail-biting week before her courses resumed soured her to the idea. Then a memory of her bruised arm or her pink cheek would flash in front of his eager face, and she didn’t think she could refuse.

The night of the goat shed, Ellen had tutored her about pleasure: ways to give pleasure to a man, ways to find her own. In the alley one Sunday, she knelt down and tried one. He enjoyed it. She didn’t have to lift her skirts. An amenable solution had been found.

Every Sunday morning, she reminded herself to have courage. There was no need to endure a lifetime of this. She heard Stokes’s sarcastic voice in her head: By all means, let a small-minded man whittle you down… There was so little left of her.

Every Monday morning, she looked in the mirror to make sure she was still there.

By contrast, her life at the Dagger was merry and productive. Aside from the weekly shortage in Vernon’s kitchen budget, everything was attaining equilibrium. Pylet relied on her, the whores liked her, and Ellen was better than a sister.

Matthew wanted to take this from her. Why wasn’t that enough to make her leave him?

One Wednesday evening in late January, she sat with Ellen in the Dagger’s dining room, an open bottle of cider between them, as the crowd of patrons grew in size and boisterousness. Vernon would usually leave when a reasonable hour for supper had come and gone, but tonight, a gaggle of young lords sailed into the inn and dangled a heavy bag in front of Amelia Pylet’s face, and suddenly, the kitchen hours had changed.

From their table near the back, Maggie and Ellen could hear Vernon’s sharp, high tones and Amelia’s low ones. They exchanged a look.

“I’ll not be sold to one of those fops, no matter how rich he claims to be,” Ellen said. “I never mind telling them to come back tomorrow, but Pylet cannot turn down a fool with a purse.”

“The one in the green jerkin is not so bad,” said Maggie. “Not even him? Not even for… a pound?”

Ellen wrinkled her nose and shook her head, glancing up as Molly descended from above with a satisfied patron. “The commandment says to remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy.”

“I believe that refers to Sunday.”

Molly plopped down at their table, hair a little mussed, but otherwise looking pert and put-together.

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