His tone held a sense of bitterness.
“You have lied and sweettalked me this whole time to get me to do what you wanted, but you are upset.”
“You didn’t seem to mind.” He mopped at his brow that glistened. “When have you ever listened, Ruth? You get something in your mind, and it’s so hard for you to do anything differently.”
“No, that’s not right. For four years, I did everything everyone else said because I thought my judgement wasn’t worthy. I was compliant and muted and chained to act as my family thought I should. Only since you returned have I been coaxed back to me.”
“Lucky me.”
I clasped his hand. “No, Wycliff, lucky me. I need this. If you can’t see this, stop the carriage. Let me out. I’ll walk to Talease.”
“You’re being ridiculous. Do you honestly think I would risk your safety? What if your nerves become problematic being out in the open?”
“I might struggle and freeze, but if I have to crawl to reach the truth, I will.”
“Then I will help you get your trouble. If we return unscathed, let me help you get into safer trouble, like dinner with paint fumes.”
I didn’t like the sarcasm in his voice. This was the wall between us, something dense with only cracks letting light through.
Once we had the truth, all the final pieces, then we’d see if this wall shattered. I’d know if Wycliff and I could be together.
…
Wycliff’s carriage stopped about a mile from Madame’s. I didn’t take his arm. We walked in silence, making it to her bawdy house as the sun started to descend.
The setting sun highlighted the gray and pink stones of the wide house.
Then the memories started.
I’d been so sick, so hurt when I’d arrived at Madame’s. My ribs had been so bruised I could barely breathe.
One broken arm that had needed to be broken again to be set right.
And so many cuts and bruises.
Hurting in places that should never be seen. Men should die for their terror.
“Ruth.” The raspy voice crept up my neck, worse than the burn of a man’s coarse shirtsleeve lodged against my throat.
“Let me help you up the stairs.”
“Don’t touch me.” I jerked away, then remembered it was Wycliff behind me. “I mean, I can do it.”
He fell back a step or two, and I went forward—climbing, fighting.
The doors to the bawdy house opened. Music and cigar smoke welcomed me. “We’re here to see Madame.” My voice was low. I had to repeat myself.
A young girl played hostess. “She can’t be disturbed. She needs her rest.”
“She’ll see me. Tell her Ruth Wilky is here.”
Another courtesan disappeared, then returned. She pointed us up a set of scarlet carpeted stairs.
I knew those stairs. I remembered being carted up them and discarded like a sack of rotten potatoes.
“Ruth, I’m right behind you.”
I heard Wycliff. His voice was a little louder than the noise in my head.
