Parents of Choice (Ficlet)
All things considered, she is a sensible child. She knows what she can get and what she can't have, and how to work around some of the things that she can't.
Her mother tells her the same thing she tells everyone: that she was a widow when she came to London, a widow heavy with child, an honest widow, forced to become a trollop to feed the mouth of her innocent babe. Her daughter's father is some eminently respectable and deceased farmer.
This just won't do.
Besides, it probably isn't true. By the time the girl is eight, she has figured out that most of the whores tell similar stories, and usually when they want to get out of paying debts, though in her mother's case it might also be maternal kindness, the wish to give her some illusion of respectability in the past. Even if it is a past that never was. It still won't do.
If she is to have a father who is dead, the girl decides, rather than one of the many people who pay for her mother's services and thus ensure their living, it might as well be someone no one else has, someone who is different than those dead and worthy men in all the other women's stories. Her father should be a nobleman, not just any nobleman but the Queen's most beloved favourite, the Earl of Leicester, and that is why her heritage must stay secret, and she will never tell anyone.
It is a pleasant fantasy for a girl of eight.
When she is twelve, her ideas have changed. She doesn't want a dead nobleman, not even the most famous in the land. Nor does she, in fact, want her mother at times. Her mother is losing her looks, and the money is ever rarer; they don't have a room of their own anymore, because it is too expensive. No, what the girl wants now are Mr. Ashley the baker and his wife, Mistress Catherine. They have two daughters, and could easily afford a third. Their daughters are always well-fed, and they have ribbons in their hairs. When they are sick, Mistress Catherine nurses them; she has the time to do so, instead of desperately haggling with some moist-handed soldier for a penny more. Besides, Mr. Ashley always winks at the girl and occasionally gives her sweets; would he do that for a whore's daughter? Perhaps she is his own, his and his wife's, and was simply misplaced.
When she is fourteen, her mother is dead, and the rats have already started to gnaw at her by the time the girl comes home. They are brazen rats, who will not leave their new feast just because she yells at them, so she hunts them down and kills them, beats them dead with her shoes, her new shoes, paid for with her own money. Once the rats are dead, she washes her mother's dead body and covers the wounds as good as she can, but she does not cry. Nor does she go with her once the woman is taken away to a pauper's grave. She is done with her mother; she does not want her back.
She goes out again to ply her mother's trade, and catches the eye of Mr. Ashley. He draws her aside, and for a moment, she wonders whether he'll tell her she can live with him and his wife now, as their foster daughter, or, failing that, whether he'll give her another sweet.
If it hadn't been the day of her mother's death, she wouldn't have been so foolish, as she has always been a sensible girl.
She can feel the wall in her back as Mr. Ashley rutts against her, and the coins in her hand. Newly minted coins; she bit one of them when he gave them to her, and he laughed and called her a minx before putting his hands under her skirts.
After that, she is done with wanting fathers as well.
Her mother tells her the same thing she tells everyone: that she was a widow when she came to London, a widow heavy with child, an honest widow, forced to become a trollop to feed the mouth of her innocent babe. Her daughter's father is some eminently respectable and deceased farmer.
This just won't do.
Besides, it probably isn't true. By the time the girl is eight, she has figured out that most of the whores tell similar stories, and usually when they want to get out of paying debts, though in her mother's case it might also be maternal kindness, the wish to give her some illusion of respectability in the past. Even if it is a past that never was. It still won't do.
If she is to have a father who is dead, the girl decides, rather than one of the many people who pay for her mother's services and thus ensure their living, it might as well be someone no one else has, someone who is different than those dead and worthy men in all the other women's stories. Her father should be a nobleman, not just any nobleman but the Queen's most beloved favourite, the Earl of Leicester, and that is why her heritage must stay secret, and she will never tell anyone.
It is a pleasant fantasy for a girl of eight.
When she is twelve, her ideas have changed. She doesn't want a dead nobleman, not even the most famous in the land. Nor does she, in fact, want her mother at times. Her mother is losing her looks, and the money is ever rarer; they don't have a room of their own anymore, because it is too expensive. No, what the girl wants now are Mr. Ashley the baker and his wife, Mistress Catherine. They have two daughters, and could easily afford a third. Their daughters are always well-fed, and they have ribbons in their hairs. When they are sick, Mistress Catherine nurses them; she has the time to do so, instead of desperately haggling with some moist-handed soldier for a penny more. Besides, Mr. Ashley always winks at the girl and occasionally gives her sweets; would he do that for a whore's daughter? Perhaps she is his own, his and his wife's, and was simply misplaced.
When she is fourteen, her mother is dead, and the rats have already started to gnaw at her by the time the girl comes home. They are brazen rats, who will not leave their new feast just because she yells at them, so she hunts them down and kills them, beats them dead with her shoes, her new shoes, paid for with her own money. Once the rats are dead, she washes her mother's dead body and covers the wounds as good as she can, but she does not cry. Nor does she go with her once the woman is taken away to a pauper's grave. She is done with her mother; she does not want her back.
She goes out again to ply her mother's trade, and catches the eye of Mr. Ashley. He draws her aside, and for a moment, she wonders whether he'll tell her she can live with him and his wife now, as their foster daughter, or, failing that, whether he'll give her another sweet.
If it hadn't been the day of her mother's death, she wouldn't have been so foolish, as she has always been a sensible girl.
She can feel the wall in her back as Mr. Ashley rutts against her, and the coins in her hand. Newly minted coins; she bit one of them when he gave them to her, and he laughed and called her a minx before putting his hands under her skirts.
After that, she is done with wanting fathers as well.