“What? Why not? The gent is planning to pay for what he thinks he’s taking you down an alley for, anyway. Why not dip your hands in his pockets while you take a drink from him? But if that’s too extreme, maybe you should charge for that childminding, Genevieve.”
“I do.” Genevieve set her bonnet on her head and tied the frayed ribbon under her chin.
“Pennies,” Winnie said scornfully.
“Charging more would take food from the babies’ mouths, when their mothers can barely afford what they pay me now.” Genevieve got to her feet. “Speaking of, they will be expecting me.”
“You think you’re special because you can get out without a problem.” Winnie’s face soured.
“No. I think that if this is my talent, that I have the responsibility to use it for others.”
“Responsibility.” She snorted. “The way you talk, I would’ve thought your father had been a vicar and not some fusty old professor!”
Genevieve’s lips twisted in a snarl. “Don’ttalk about my father.”
The women all froze.
“You keep his name out of your mouth. Do you hear me?”
Winnie quailed under the force of Genevieve’s red-eyed glare.
“Winnie, cut line,” Elspeth said briskly, wrapping her lace in a cloth and handing it over. “You’ve already said that you have no interest in sharing our space or pooling resources. Therefore, you have no say on how we earn money or what we do with it.”
Winnie sniffed and flounced out of their crowded bolt hole, which eased the space considerably.
Genevieve’s shoulders relaxed, her sudden fury draining away, leaving her empty.
“Why does she act like that?” Elspeth asked lightly, snipping a thread with her teeth. “Does it make her happier to spread her vitriol to others?”
Genevieve said, “We all wear thin down here in the dark. Does anyone need anything?”
Both Sparrow and Elspeth shook their heads.
“Don’t forget to go and feed by the north gate,” she reminded them. “I heard that Rafe will be on duty tonight. He won’t give you any trouble.”
Sparrow stared at her hands, but Elspeth nodded. “We’ll go.” She would make sure Sparrow got sustenance.
Genevieve checked her bonnet ribbons again and took up the bundle. “I’ll be back before daylight.”
Genevieve slipped the coin from the sale of Elspeth’s lace into the inner pocket of her skirt as the shop’s door jingled shut behind her. She stood on the stoop and marveled at the spark of joy that flared within her.Stockings and thread, she reminded herself, setting off down the street.Before the shops close.
She bought a pair of sturdy but soft stockings for Sparrow and two more spools of thread for Elspeth at the milliners. The shop windows had begun to decorate for Christmas, though December had just begun. In a few weeks, carolers would crowd the streets, and they would all hope for snow to cover the dirty thoroughfares.
At a nearby bookseller’s, she paused to stare at the stacks in the window. They did not have her favorite, butThe Wife of Welandwas in stock, next to a stack of copies of the popular Dickens novel. Part of her imagined walking into the shop and laying down the price of the volume, to be able to say she owned it. To hug it to her chest as something rather than nothing.
Foolish. They needed the coin for far more important things. But if there was one tome she’d do so for, it would beWynnflaed’s Knight. And she knew it practically by heart.
“Oh!A Christmas Carol! Louis, that is my very favorite book! Do say you will purchase a copy,” a woman passerby said, tugging on the arm of her escort. They entered the shop, the bell jingling. A more appropriate purchase for the season, to be sure.
Genevieve chuckled suddenly. “‘Genevieve Dryden was dead, to begin with.’”
Her smile faded as the scent of humanity suddenly swelled, her senses heightened. The hungry urge made its presence known, raking at her insides, wanting to be unleashed.
She turned away from the shop window and headed east.
What would you think of me, Father?Genevieve wondered as a carter followed her down an alley, away from the street’s light. The carter walked a little too close to her, but she had implied that she would give him a favor in return for shifting a fictitious trunk.
“It’s just there.” Genevieve pointed.
