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Isaw the first missing person’s poster two days after her visit. The paper had been pinned to the town bulletin by the city hall building. Another to add to the many that were already missing. The page front and center amongst the many other pieces of paper, those that advertised rooms for rent, auctions, jobs, sales, and other services. But it washerface that caught my attention.
Her face was familiar.
Sad but kind, the sharpness of her cheek bones, the shape of her jaw, her small nose. The curls that framed her face. And while I had only seen her face twice. I knew who it was.
It was Imogen.
She’d gone missing and no one had seen her. Not a single trace of her was left. Not a single word to her family or friends, to the people she knew, and certainly not to the Conwell’s. It was as if she had run away. Simply just. . . disappeared. The note at the bottom had mentioned a reward for information. That the guards were looking into her disappearance and sought anyone who knew something.
Do I tell them?
Should I mention anything I had seen?
My apprehension about any mention of her visit kept me from speaking. What if I had been the last one to see her? What if she never made it back to Conwell manor after being with me? I did not want them thinking I had anything to do with it. And I certainly could not mention anything about Kaston. I knew he had left the bruise on her face. The way she eyed the fire poker as if I would swing it at her and her unease told me all I needed to know. If I were to become a whistleblower, it would cause another problem I did not need.
Not right now.
I just hoped she was safe and living a happy life, hopefully with someone she had fallen in love with. And not. . . dead somewhere.
One could only hope.
I turned to head down the road toward the tavern. The briny sea breeze off the docks and the smell of freshly baked bread and cakes hung in the air as I meandered down the cobblestone street. The aroma from the apothecary shop and the smell of essential oils and creams drifted out the door as I passed.
Past the modiste with the yards and yards of brightly colored, jewel toned fabrics and laces. Even by Rothnia’s sole bookshop, longing to step inside one day and just smell the pages. Feel the books in my hands. It's been so long since I had gotten a new one to read, and I missed it. I loved to read; Nona used to bring me books when I was a young girl, when we could afford it. But such luxuries were a dream now.
I wasn’t openly friendly with most of the shop owners on this block, but Nona taught me to be courteous, even with the nasty things they would say as I passed. As I weaved through the shoppers and owners- the buildings towering above me, the smiles, and nods of those who passed by, I saw them. Kaston was ahead of me, making his way up the street toward where I was. I would recognize his auburn hair anywhere, very few in Rothnia had such hair. It was a family trait passed down by his mother.
But it was the young woman on his arm who snagged my attention. She was petite with blonde curls coiled up, an ostentatious hat atop her head, which blocked the sun from her face. Her dress of soft pink satin, lace ruffles, white hand gloves and rose velvet caplet marked her as a noble. Her hand was nestled into his arm, a beaming smile on her face as they went from shop window to shop window.
The bags he held and the boxes their escort carried, indicated they were here to spend. My heart ached. It had been rare that Kaston spent anything on me. Occasionally, showing at the cottage with a rose or two. But never like this.
Never so open.
The heavy weight of the emerald green box with the black satin ribbon haunted me. The apology, I could not bring myself to open it, to see what was inside. Feeling as though by doing so it would secure myself to him. I had left it on the table in the cottage; a stark reminder of him and what he was asking.
Of course, I could choose not to wear the dress, hoping I had enough to scrape together to get my own. But I knew in the end, I would have no choice. There was no way I would be able to get my own in such a short time. The coin I would earn tonight would pay the taxes that were owed for the year.
Hurrying past them as quickly as I could, keeping my face down, I felt his eyes land on me. A quirk of his lips caused my skin to flush and my head to pound in trepidation. Praying that he would not say anything. Praying that he would leave me alone and escort his companion back to her home. Praying he would not find me working at the tavern tonight. I could not keep living in fear of this man, but he made it so difficult. The ball was in four days, and I prayed I would not see him again before then.
* * *
THE TAVERN WAS CROWDED tonight. A new ship had docked in the harbor this morning and the sailors had found their way to one of the many taverns in Rothnia. My tavern, The Rusty Goat, which sat a block from the docks, was full. The rooms above booked out for the night.
The loud and boisterous patrons ordered round after round of ale and mead. The dishes piled up next to me through out the night. It would take hours to get everything cleaned up before my shift ended. But staying late would be no bother, not for me.
The owner had taken off for the evening, which left me, the barkeep Corey, and our cook Bern to run everything until his return later.
Tonight’s menu offered steamed crawfish and seasoned potatoes as a main choice, but the usual stewed vegetable soup and bread, minced meat pies and mashed potatoes with ale gravy still found its way to the tables- a favorite for most. I glimpsed an occasional plate of apple pie leaving the kitchens.
My stomach grumbled as Bern sent out dish after dish. I had not eaten before leaving the cottage, I’d gotten stuck in the garden tending the new sprouts and had lost track of time. A loud laugh echoed as the door opened and Corey set down another tray of used mugs, bowls, and silverware. Before taking the ones I had just cleaned back out again.
“Serra, take a break. You’ve been working hard since you got here. The dishes will not go anywhere,” Bern said, having peaked his head around the corner. We shared the space but with the way the tavern was laid out, the washing basins were nestled under the stairs that went to the rooms above. The kitchen stoves and ovens around a corner, giving him the most space.
“Thanks Bern, but I’m okay.” My sleeves were rolled back, the front of my skirt soaked from the water. I blew the stray hair from my face as I glanced over at him.
“Serra, please, let me insist. You cannot tell me you aren’t hungry. Take this bowl of potatoes and ale gravy and go sit in the back alley to eat. It's already past dinner time,” Bern urged me with a kind tone. The steam rising from the bowl made my stomach growl, which he found amusing as he handed it to me.
“Go ahead,” he said with a chuckle.
