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Shoving the steaming rolls into my cloak, I step out of the alley and loop my way back around toward the market, where I manage to steal a bit of cheese.
It’s not much, but it’ll do.
Satisfied with my small feast, I head toward a quieter part of the city to enjoy my meal. I’d return to the rooftop I’ve come to claim as my own, but I can’t be certain I wouldn’t be seen. No none has yet discovered my little hideout, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Though it’s nothing more than a bit of overhanging roof shielded on three sides by buildings crammed far too close together, it’s my little home. The one place I can go to escape the world. If only for a few hours each night.
Passing through a narrow alley, my eyes catch on two small bodies huddled together. My steps falter; my good mood over the food tucked safely within my cloak immediately evaporating.
They tremble as they watch me with eyes too large for their small faces. A girl and boy, no more than five years old.
My heart aches at the sight of them. Their clothing is nothing but rags, their thin limbs poking through the worn fabric at odd angles. They’re too young to be out on the streets, sleeping in piles of trash just a few feet from a bustling crowd.
Sighing, I reach into my cloak and pull the two small rolls from within. Taking a careful step forward, I crouch several feet away from them as I offer up the bread in my hands.
The girl’s eyes have gone round in fear and hunger as she stares at me, her lips trembling.
“Here, I won’t hurt you,” I coax, shifting forward slightly, only for the children to draw closer to one another.
My heart breaks for them as I am pulled back to the days when I too was a child on these very streets. Not knowing what else to do, I toss the bread and then the cheese to them. The way they immediately devour the food, their eyes never leaving me, makes me think they mustn’t have eaten in days.
Frowning, I watch them for a moment before straightening. I wish there was more I could do for them, but I know it’s impossible. Most days, I’m barely able to put a mouthful of food in my own belly.
My stomach growls at this, a cruel reminder that I’ll now go another day without. Taking one last look at the children, I promise myself that I’ll come back to check on them as I continue on my way.
Stepping out of the alley, I find the gray stone of the buildings now awash in warm golden sunlight.
A small curse escapes me as I realize I spent too much time watching and worrying over the children. Grabbing the lengths of my skirts, I take off as fast as I can, water splashing beneath my feet while I send a prayer to the gods that my tardiness won’t be noticed.
2
Rose
“You’re late. Again.”
This is the only warning I get before Mistress Wrotham’s meaty hand connects with the back of my head.
I wince, my fists clenching at my sides as I force myself not to react. She may be half my height, but she never fails to land her hits. I’d almost be impressed if not for the constant bruising.
“You’ll be docked three coppers this week for tardiness,” she informs me. “Now, go scrub the filth off you in the basin. The food won’t serve itself.”
I have to bite my tongue not to quarrel with her. I may have only been five minutes late, but the last thing I need right now is to lose this job, too.
“Right away, mistress,” I answer with a nod, and she smiles knowingly at me, enjoying her moment of power as I move to do as she’s ordered.
For every small mistake, every point of failure, she’s always there to remind me with sharp words and readied hands. I can’t help but wonder if these things are to be blamed for the distance in her husband’s eyes.
Some days, I’m almost tempted to ask, but I know that would only get me tossed out on the street without a coin to my name. With work already hard to come by that’s something I cannot afford. But if I ever can afford it, I’ll have more than a few choice words of my own for her.
Stepping around Mistress Wrotham, I slip off my cloak and replace it with one of the worn aprons hanging by the door. Tying it around my waist, I quickly move toward the kitchen.
I can feel Mistress Wrotham’s eyes on me as I move, no doubt watching for any misstep to dock more of my pay. I grit my teeth, my stomach tight, as I step to a basin to scrub away the dirt and grime from my face, hands, and arms before finally stepping through the door leading into the kitchen.
Only now do I let out a sigh.
“Don’t let the mistress see you leaning against the door like that,” Mary warns as she steps out of the back room. “Be a dear and grab the food, will you?”
I answer her with a nod as she walks toward me, several mugs of ale in hand despite the early hour. She raises her eyebrows as if to say as much, flashing me a grin that shows off her two missing teeth.
