by Anne Groß
An hour later, wedged into a dark corner of the hallway and propped upright by her broom, she gasped awake from her precariously balanced nap and started furiously sweeping. Thomas’s heavy footsteps descended from his room in the garret, turned on the landing to the second floor, and approached her from the darkness to lean against the wall and watch her work with his arms crossed. Already he had his pipe clenched in his teeth, but it was cold and unlit, and he chewed the stem of it thoughtfully as he stood there with his inscrutable, scarred expression. It annoyed Elise. “What?” she asked sharply.
His response was lightning fast, and entirely unexpected. He grabbed her by the elbow and led her forcefully down the stairs. Elise had only enough time and presence of mind to struggle to keep her feet on the wooden steps before she was dragged across the black and white tiles of the entrance hall and into the dining room. As they neared the kitchen, she broke free, but he caught her back up and tucked her into a vise-like grip under his strong arms. He called out over her protestations into the kitchen, “Can you stay a bit later tonight, Mrs. P? I’m off to visit Mrs. Southill.”
“Mrs. Southill? Must you see that Sheela na-gig?” Mrs. Postlethwaite asked sharply as she poked her head out of the kitchen. Then she gasped when she saw the furious struggle. “What on earth? You’re taking the Queen with you then?”
Thomas yelped his assent as Elise’s heel came down hard on his toe. He threw her over his shoulder like a cask of beer and headed towards the front door.
“Let her borrow Mary’s coat or she’ll catch her death. She’s always shivering and huddling near the fire, that one. And you,” she pointed at Elise, who glared at her as she hung upside down. “You leave that broom here,” Mrs. Postlethwaite ordered. Surprised that she was still holding onto the broomstick, Elise dropped it quickly causing Thomas to stumble over it as it hit his ankles. He recovered enough to grab Mary’s coat from the hook.
“Shut the bloody...” The familiar shout from the old man in the armchair was cut short as Thomas slammed the front door behind them.
“Let go of me,” yelled Elise as she attempted to shimmy down the back of her captor. Thomas obeyed by pushing her off his shoulder as though brushing off dandruff and she landed hard. The jolt to her ribs created fireworks of pain behind her eyes and she drew her knees up to her chest in an instinctual effort to protect herself. The cobble stones smelled like old piss and vomit.
Thomas squatted down next to her and turned her chin so that she would look at him. “How did you know to do what you did last night?” His other hand raked his hair back from his forehead.
Elise jerked her chin out of his grip. “I dated an EMT,” she said, knowing her words would be meaningless. She rolled over onto her knees to crawl away, but Thomas grabbed her ankle. Elise kicked, but he managed to drag her close so that her face was in range of his fists and he cocked his arm back. She ducked her head under her arms, flinching from his glare.
“You never make any sense when you speak,” he said grabbing her shoulders. “And you always slink away like a dog whenever anyone asks you to explain. Mrs. P told me not to push, but I’ll not allow it any longer. I’ll have your story. How can you know what to do when a man is choking, but not know anything else of use? Why do you speak so strangely?”
“I forgot,” Elise said defiantly.
“I suppose you forgot where you put the money you collected from the lads as well? I told you I’d be checking every pocket, didn’t I?”
“I swear! I forgot!” Elise flinched from Thomas. His threat felt very real. “It’s all on the windowsill upstairs. I forgot all about it until I went to bed.”
Thomas glared at her and then sat back on his heels. “You’ll be coming with me to see Mrs. Southill now. Will you walk or must I carry you?”
“Who’s Mrs. Southill?” asked Elise, still frightened.
“Never you mind.” He stood and offered his hand to help her up off the ground, then raised it to his head to tug at his black hair when Elise got up on her own. “Here, at least take this,” he said, handing her Mary’s coat. “We’ve got a ways to walk.”
“But I don’t have any shoes. My feet are cold.” Elise lifted the skirt of her dress to show her bare feet and garner his pity.
“Why haven’t you washed that off your toes yet?”
Elise looked down, surprised at his reaction. “My toenail polish? It doesn’t wash off. It’s lacquered on.”
“Why would you do that? It makes your toes look bloody.”
“No it doesn’t. It’s pretty,” Elise insisted, feeling defensive. The pedicure was growing out and pale moons were beginning to show near her cuticles. “Can you get me shoes?” she asked, shrugging into the coat. It actually felt warmer outside than in. The sun strove to melt away the reeking mist that hovered in the narrow lane.
“Not now, if that’s what you’re asking. The Missus is looking out for your shoes.” The way Thomas said it didn’t give Elise much hope for acquiring footwear any time soon. He offered his elbow, which surprised her since he had made it clear he was kidnapping her, and she took it despite distrusting his motives. When she touched his arm, the sincerity of his smile jarred her.
They stepped off the curb and into the street, and although he seemed to try to circumnavigate the larger of the manure piles for her sake, it didn’t take long for Elise to feel something ooze between her toes despite her best hopscotch moves. “Oh god,” she whined piteously as she lifted her skirt and tried to scrape the bottom of her foot against a cobblestone.
“Don’t start, Queen. We don’t have all day.” The smile was gone. He pinned her wrist painfully between his arm and ribcage to better drag her along, hiding her captivity in a gentleman’s posture.
They stayed mostly to the winding back lanes, where the buildings, stacked tightly side by side, made rough walls that locked her in to a dank maze of streets. Children seemed to explode from hidden corners, running and dodging each other as though they had somewhere important to be. Mothers, some looking no more than children themselves while others looked ancient with drawn faces and worry lines, stood in open doorways. Each woman held something as they looked out: brooms, babies, mixing bowls. When Elise and Thomas approached their doorways, many would quickly retreat. Elise felt her loneliness grow heavier with every slammed door. A woman nodded at Thomas, clearly recognizing him. It made Elise wonder. She hadn’t given much thought about what his life was like outside the Quiet Woman, but now a part of her was afraid she was about to find out why all the women in the street disappeared as Thomas approached.
Elise shivered under Mary’s large coat. The sound of crying babies was incessant background noise. Wet, hacking coughs from behind closed windows were intermittent. The black smoke from hundreds of chimneys hung low and choking, burning Elise’s eyes so that she saw London through a watery haze. A buggy turned the corner and approached. She sniffed and wiped her nose on the sleeve of Mary’s coat and despite her misgivings about her companion, moved closer to his side to avoid the horse. “How much farther?” she asked. She was pretty sure they’d already gone over a mile.
He slowed his pace and looked down at her, his eyes vivid blue under his black brows. “Are you tiring? We’ll continue east, then down. We can rest a bit if you wish.”
“I’m okay.” She didn’t know what “east, then down,” meant, but it felt good to walk, even though her heels were bruising where they hit the cobblestones. She had shifted her gait to land more on the balls of her feet, helping her keep up with Thomas’s long stride. The exertion wasn’t the issue—the light jog was clearing her head even as her sinuses filled. It was the growing distance from the Quiet Woman that made her nervous. There was something about the pub that felt comforting, and seeing the way the rest of London lived made her realize how lucky she was. She could have landed in front of a tenement row. “Tell me again how you found me?” she asked.
Thomas walked to a corner that seemed to mark the border between London city
squalor, and London suburban squalor. Beyond the corner, the homes began to spread apart from each other, becoming slightly wider with roofs that clung low to the ground. He stopped and leaned against the wall to study her. “You were full of fever when we found you, to be sure. I believe you wouldn’t remember that night.”
“I told you I don’t.”
Thomas nodded and pulled his pipe out of a pocket to fiddle with it as he thought, then tucked it away again. “It was late, near closing time. Not many were in that night, just the few regular lads. Richard found you in the Lane, half froze to death and covered in mud. He had me carry you into the kitchen to warm you by the fire and went in back to get his mother. Mrs. P. hadn’t gone home yet, and she took one look at you and started bathing you right there on the hearth.”
“Mrs. P.?” That was hard for Elise to believe.
“Aye, and it was a good thing too, because Mrs. Ferrington didn’t take to you right away. You could hear she and Richard having words in their quarters.” Thomas smiled at the memory. “So it was Mrs. P. who bathed you on the hearth and as soon as that water touched your pelt, you started kicking and screaming like a wild heathen.”
“Wait. You watched while I was bathed?”
“I held you down.”
Elise stared at Thomas while she processed his words and the look he gave in return was steady and unapologetic. She’d been strong-armed by the bar’s Strong Arm. It was nothing personal, a job completed, like stripping an unconscious patient with an abdominal wound. She decided she didn’t feel violated, and tried to shake it off. “Why did Richard take me in?” There were plenty of others he could have rescued, all those children they passed earlier, for instance.
Thomas was silent for a long while before he finally replied, as though weighing his words. “The Ferringtons have always cared for strays.”
“Stray cats, I get, but stray people?”
“Aye, I was a stray when I was younger than Johnny and it was Old Mr. Ferrington as took me in and gave me a bed in the garret. I’d do the same for Johnny, but we’re full up right now. Though when it’s horrible cold out he’ll sleep in the kitchen.” His voice was soft and grumbled low, like his songs.
“But I’m not a kid to be adopted. I’m a grown woman.”
Thomas snorted and looked her up and down. “So you say.” Then he took her arm to get her attention. “Maybe you don’t remember that night, but I’ll wager you remember the day before that, and the day before that, and all the days back until the day you were born. You’ve a story to tell and you’re not telling it. Maybe that’s why Richard took you in. Maybe he likes a mystery.”
He stepped in close, and Elise recognized the gesture as his act of intimidation, only this time she didn’t feel intimidated. His eyes were sparking and his scar pulled the one side of his mouth up. Richard wasn’t the one who liked mysteries. “Where are you dragging me to again?” she asked, changing the subject.
“To see Mrs. Southill. Not long now.” They began to walk again and he tucked her hand under his elbow, this time protectively. They passed a group of men who were sharing a bottle around campfire in the middle of the street. One of them tipped his hat to Elise in a gesture that looked more obscene than polite, but he kept his thoughts to himself after assessing Thomas. In the not so far off distance as the houses fell back away from the road, she saw fields in shades of green and yellow. “We’re headed to those trees,” Thomas said as he pointed to a dark clump of forested land that Elise hadn’t yet noticed. The trees seemed to lean forward over a bordering road as though reaching towards the thin sunlight in fear of what might be deep within their dark midst. There were no homes near the forest’s shadow.
Thomas turned down a dirt road that cut across a rocky field no bigger than a schoolyard park where shabby rows of greenery attempted to grow. Turnips? Carrots? Elise had no idea. Directly on the other side of the field, shanty houses began to crowd together again as though huddling for protection against the imposing arms of nature. While it was true that the road was much wider, and the air cleaner, Elise still didn’t feel any safer. A person could hide as easily behind a bush as behind a brick wall. And Thomas was just one man.
It was nearly a half hour before they finally arrived at the edge of forest grove. Thomas pointed out a silver line in the distance to show how the road continued past the wooded area to trace the shore of the Thames. Then, he turned to duck under a narrow opening between two arching oaks that was the entrance to a pale and winding trail. Without speaking, he gestured for Elise to walk in front of him but hooked his fingers under her apron strings to pull her back when she got more than three steps ahead. Soon afterwards he seemed to think better of the arrangement and stepped in front to lead the way while glancing suspiciously into the dark branches of the forest above. “Keep up,” Thomas ordered unnecessarily, curling his arm around her waist. Branches stretched across the trail and anchored threads of spider webs on either side. Thomas waved at the air in front of them to knock the webs away and lifted the arching branches safely over their heads.
As the light grew ever more dim, the hair on the back of Elise’s neck rose. “I don’t like this place,” she hissed. They had taken so many left and right turns at various forks that she was completely lost.
“Most don’t like this forest, but that’s what makes it safe. Only idiots and lost souls come here. Not much further.” Thomas tucked her more protectively against his side, but she didn’t feel very reassured. She wondered which he was—idiot or lost soul.
Finally, when Elise was sure they were completely lost, the trail ended at another archway of oak trees that framed a small clearing filled with sunshine. “We’re here,” Thomas said with a relieved sigh as he dropped his arm and let her go. Elise took another step forward, and gasped in surprise when he pulled her back sharply by her apron strings. “Watch out!”
Alarmed, Elise stumbled backwards a few steps and ducked. Then looked to see where Thomas was pointing. A low ring of stones outlined the entire clearing, and she had nearly stepped over them. She straightened up in relief. “Seriously? That’s all? You scared me.”
“Never cross a stone ring without being invited,” he looked fiercely at her. “Never.”
Elise cocked her head in confusion at her companion, but stood safely on the outside of the stones while Thomas called into the clearing. A door opened to a little shack that she hadn’t noticed before and a woman as brown and as crinkled as a dead leaf poked her head out. “Is that you Thomas MacEwan?” she called back. She stepped out of the door and as Elise’s eyes adjusted to the glare of the sun, she saw how the building leaned up against four straight trees, forming the four corners to the home. Smoke puffed from a chimney in the back.
“I’ll introduce you,” Thomas whispered at Elise, “but you must promise to be polite, no matter what she says to you.” He seemed very anxious and was tugging at his hair again. “In fact,” he continued, “it’s best you don’t say anything at all. Just let her talk.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing is wrong with her! Why would you ask that?” he snapped as the little woman beckoned them to enter into her space.
The clearing was not very large, but held a few notable items that she’d missed when standing at the edge of the forest. A trestle table and bench, for instance, were set close to a fire pit that held glowing embers. A small pile of bones—mostly small animal skulls - was arranged near a large boulder. Firewood was stacked neatly within steps of a chopping block and the axe leaned against a nearby sapling.
As they walked past the table, Elise picked up the top stone from a small pile of stones that all had a single hole, probably drilled by the constant tapping of a dripping water source. “Put that down,” whispered Thomas. “Don’t touch anything.” Elise put the stone up to her eye and peered at him through the hole. He seemed to glow, bouncing rays of sun from his black hair, making her smile. She swung her head around the clearing with the stone still
at her eye and noticed that a low bush near the house was decorated with a garland of colorful scraps of cloth tied around the branches. Thomas snatched the stone from her hand and replaced it on the pile. The garland returned to being trash randomly caught in the underbrush.
“Tommy-boy,” the woman said as she approached. “What have you brought me today?”
Thomas pulled from his waist pocket a bulging pouch and offered it to Mrs. Southill, who took it, loosened the strings and pulled out a pinch of tobacco to sniff and roll between her finger and thumb. “I meant that one,” she growled, pointing to Elise with her pinky, her crooked index finger being occupied with assessing the quality of the moist leaf.
“Might I introduce to you Miss Elise Duboys,” Thomas said, presenting Elise to the old lady. “Elise, this is Mrs. Southill.”
“Dubois,” corrected Elise.
“Pleased to meet you Miss Elsie,” said Mrs. Southill. She curtsied like a little girl. “Would you like to see what’s in my hands?” She put the tobacco down on the table and held her empty cupped hands together. She peered inside before offering her hands to Elise.
Thomas abruptly interrupted with a nervous cough. “I brought Elise to be your new apprentice.”
Both women turned to stare at the barman with open mouths.
USELESS
“Stay here?” Elise asked shocked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She looked over Thomas’s shoulder to survey her new home and shuddered. Mrs. Southill’s shack reminded her of a compost heap. The walls and roof were shedding grass clippings, decaying leaves, lumpy oatmeal, and maybe a dead frog or two, and the entire architectural nightmare leaned dangerously to one side. In contrast to the decomposing house, the stone ring around the clearing might as well have been prison-bars. The forest leaned oppressively over the ring to reinforce her captivity.